The brilliant beacon of white-hot plasma was aflare only briefly, but it was uncomfortably close to Xepherial's own armor. He could feel the heat of it as he cut off the long end of the blood-covered spike, which fell to the floor with a ringing clang. Gears whirred and came to life within his servo-harness as three other arms assisted him to lift off the sinister rubble that had broken his fall. The fifth arm was crushed and non-functional.

Illuminators on his armor and helm switched on to light his surroundings, but were immediately dimmed in response to Xepherial's conscious control. He only needed so much. Even still, he could see he was in a large chamber, the bottom of one obviously. Several ruined walkways spanned across the open darkness overhead, while beside him were many iconic statues and decorative stone pillars supporting the structures above. This would have been a junction between the other more functional areas of the ship affording those who passed through it the opportunity to admire the artwork. Gathering from his elegant surroundings, Xepherial figured this was probably a ship belonging to a chapter like the Word Bearers, or possibly the Emperor's Children. There simply weren't enough angels to be otherwise. Nearby, he found his poweraxe.

For all the good it did him, Xepherial moved a hand over the front part of his wound and winced. The bleeding had stopped and he was stable, but it would do him no good to rush. He would have to keep moving however, least the alien creatures he had met before found him.

Accessing his recent data, Xepherial recalled the location of the unidentified beacon that had drawn so many star ships to the spacehulk. He was much closer to it now, and with no other frame of reference, he decided to at least find out what it was. He proceeded to explore in the general direction, making use of his plasmacutter to make doors where necessary.

Eventually, the Fallen techmarine came upon the scene of an ancient battle. He recognized the purple and gold of long dead third legioners, but the other astartes corpses perplexed him. Crimson... Weren't Word Bearer's grey? And who were they fighting against? Unless it was... each other?! Xepherial surveyed the scene, paused in his progress, looking for clues.

It didn't take long for him to find a place where the dust had been disturbed. He brightened his lights to look closer and then noticed the evidence. Footprints, from the greaves of an armored space marine, were leading away. Xepherial knelt by them, slowly bringing his eyes up to the path they led. Was one of his cousins still alive down here? The possibility intrigued him, and he noted his heartrate had increased slightly. Perhaps the shaman had been right all along.

His minion audibly cringed at the Ogryn's rush toward them both, but having seen the Ogryn in combat proper, Lucius was hardly intimidated, not that he would have been either way. A charging Ogryn involved a lot more screams of blind murderous intent, or whatever instinct the brutes ran on. Sure enough, the character soon stopped before reaching him, eyeing up the cowering wretch that claimed to serve him, then asking who it was, and admitting that he didn't like the man. But of course not. Lucius himself didn't like him. But, because he had to come up with something to cover his tracks, he shortly stated 'No need to worry. This is my-'

Minion? Slave? Serf? Servant- yes, servant, he'll understand that.

'-servant,' Lucius offered, the slight hesitation covered by a near-imperceptible elongation of "my". 'Rest assured, he is without weaponry, and will bring no harm to you or anybody else.'

But it seemed the Ogryn was now preoccupied with other things. Scanning, and some internal conflict that he hadn't been aware Ogryns could engage in... was that another group of intrepid explorers he espied? Or perhaps more foes. Regardless, he eyed them up, deliberately placing a hand on the handle of his sheathed sword to make sure they knew he was present. There was a, a sort of bipedal fish alien in the group... and an Eldar, who by the looks of it was of the sort who took greatly to torment and torture. Disgusting creatures both - that was one trait, at least, that he retained from his time in the Dark Angels proper. And it was clear their allies held more truck with them than he'd ever be comfortable with.

But he'd deal with them when the time came to it; for now, he turned his attention back to the Ogryn, who was currently explaining in so many words that it was scared and confused, and needed to get back to "da, uh, ship", presumably whatever Imperial ship it had come from to begin with. And that, it seemed, was his in. He strolled the rest of the way over to the Ogryn, placing a firm, reassuring arm round the giant creature's shoulders.

'Well, if you need directions back to your ship, my friend- by the way, I don't think you told me your name yet?- I'm sure I can help you search. And you people over there too, mind,' he called to the small group who was observing him and his possible newfound ally, and his servant. He'd rather not do that, but realistically, he needed more than one meatshield to survive in the Hulk for much longer.

'I can't imagine why this is what has been willed for me, but perhaps some of you will be able to serve under the Emperor's merciful guidance, anyway,' he offered in as congenial a tone as the situation allowed for, well aware that if one person already thought he served the Emperor, he had to pretend the same for all of them, else somebody would be disillusioned sooner or later. 'And in any case, the more of us there are, the more effectively we can cover one another's backs, and the fewer of us will be slain, is that not so?' No doubt, of course, that the Eldar would backstab everybody in the group the moment she got her chance, but since he knew it'd be coming, he'd be able to mete out justice to her the moment she began to execute such a maneuver.

@Sophrus@DepressedSoviet@Hank

Urgrugg felt somewhat unnerved by the presence of the psyker traveling with him. It wasn't anything Zuriel had said, or even done, that set the ork on edge. As a shaman, he had been around other manipulators of the warp before. Only hours before, he had summoned one from the very bowels of the warp itself, and one of the strangest examples the other side had to offer. No, it was something else about the creature that Urgrugg found unsettling, but he couldn't quite place his talon on exactly what it was.

His thoughts were overcome with other worries, though. An echo came through the halls of the great, metal labyrinth. Something, or someone, had made a very loud crash. Judging from the sound itself, something metal had been thrown against, or possibly fell upon, some wall or floor of the hulk. Quickening his pace, Urgrugg moved down the corridor, following where he thought the sound had come from.

At first, it seemed like a wasted effort. The sound, while violent, had been brief. There were no other loud sounds accompanying it, which implied it was likely not caused by battle. In fact, thinking about it, the sound of metal striking metal in this place was likely commonplace. After all, the entire thing was made of huge metal structures, all crashed and compacted together, in completely random ways they were never meant to be part of.

Then, he heard something else. It was much more faint, but again, it sounded like metal on metal, and came from the same general direction. The ork continued on, moving steadily towards the sound, though pacing himself more now. Then, he heard another sound, and some time later, another. Each seemed closer, and before long he discovered why. Someone had been cutting door ways through the inner workings of the hulk, and from the heat of the metal, it had not been long since they had been through.

His suspicions confirmed, the ork moved with more urgency. He gave no thought to his companion, though he could tell from the sounds behind him he was being followed. There was no point talking about any of this. They both would have heard the sounds, seen the evidence, and come to the same conclusions. The plan would be the same for both of them. Find whatever was leaving this very obvious trail.

That said, they were not being quiet. As an ork, Urgrugg was very accustomed to the need to charge towards his foes, and fully capable of doing as much for a good deal of time. With the sounds of new passages being made acting as his guide, he felt them growing closer. Before long, he could even make out the sounds of very heavy, metal-clad steps ahead of them. They were faint, but they were growing louder.

When the sounds of the foot steps stopped, Urgrugg finally slowed. He continued moving forward, but it would do him no good to run full speed into an enemy he had yet to even see. Drawing closer, something else caught his attention. The unmistakable scent of a battle field, though an old one. To an ork, that smell practically meant home. It was getting closer, as well.

As Urgrugg came to what he expected to be the last corner, he finally turned his head back, making sure he was not alone. In preparation for a battle, the ork let loose a hint of his power. With barely a thought, he brought his weapon to life, turning it from wood and crystal to the full potential of the force staff it was. Though he had been unsure at first, Urgrugg was convinced someone was waiting around the next corner. They had been tracking something, and more importantly, they had been tracking it towards the source of the beacon that had drawn so much attention to this lonely hulk. His weapon ready, Urgrugg rounded the corner, braced for an ambush.

As Urgrugg began to run, he noticed something rather quickly.
Before the clanging steps of the magi besides him was rather noticeable, however, as he began to run the sound stopped.
Glancing back he noticed Zuriel floating along instead of running.

Zuriel was glad that the mysterious... someone, they had been following was just around the corner, and that the ork volunteered to go first was very acceptable in Zuriels mind as well.
He tilted his head as the imposing ork looked back to see if he was still there, ironic he humoured to himself.
For the moment he looked forth and moved Zuriel lost his physical presence and reformed himself as the smoke cloud, falling slower than gravity to the floor and flooding out into the corridor.

At the same time the ork activated the energies of his staff. Probably some sort of crude force weapon, impressive, not many could form these rare weapons, and to think that an ork, stupid as they tend to be, had managed put the unwilling and uninspired masses of humanity into perspective. To show that most of man was more stupid than a simple ork.
Zuriel figured that this was probably not a simple ork. Considering orks normally did not tap into the warp in this way.

Movement. Close. Regular pattern. A living creature, bipedal. Xeraphiel stood quietly from where he was analyzing the foot prints and aimed his bolter in the direction of the new sounds. Just as the source rounded the corner, Xeraphiel's illuminators flared, blinding the creature and making it obvious in great detail to the techmarine.

An ork? An immediate assessment determined the ork had no weapons, other than a staff of come kind that radiated energy. Truly, Xeph had expected another broodlord. He had no idea how orks got on this hulk, but an ork was still a xeno and an enemy, and a dead ork was a lot less of a problem than a live one.

Urgrugg might have made out the form of a space marine just before the lights obscured his vision.

Then Xepherial opened up a short burst directly at Urgrugg's chest.

@Necroes@Wraithblade6@Klomster

It did not matter how it had happened, nor would it have mattered to those already aboard the hulk even if they had known, but to High Lord Inquisitor Elizabeth Marcus there was no more mortifying moment in her entire existence; there was something...someone inside her, and there was little to nothing that she could do about it. Though she had tried every text and verse she could recall from her days of training, though she had fought with a will of iron and near unbreakable faith, they had burrowed their way into her mind like a nail driven in with the surgical precision of a medicae implanting a chip within ones skull.

Certainly it was true that such a leap, the possession of another’s body and mind, was something that the Mon-Keigh or Dark cousins of the Eldar were more well known for, and Celalyth had been able to read very clearly the expression of Farseer Gilsadra when she had asked this task of her. An entire hour of meditation had been needed to decide to go forward with this manipulation, but after feeling the warp-presence grow aboard the drifting wreckages – some bastard corruption of ruinous trickery and Greenskin magic – she had been only too happy to help in whatever way she could.

Gazing through the eyes of the High Lord and feeling her raw physical power – as well as her authority over the rest of these Mon-Keigh warrior women – Gilsadra felt the corners of her lips twitch, growing even more so as she gave the order for an all-out assault upon the hulk to begin.

“We must capture that xenos and purge whomever else remains upon the vessel,” came the voice of Elizabeth through the vox and squad comms, “Canoness-Preceptor Sephella will lead the way, her unwavering Sisters at the fore. We must strike were the signal is strongest! Prepare to launch the boarding vessels, we make for the Merciless Aquila with all haste.”

---

Vedius hit the side of his helmet again with the flat of his palm, the HUD once more smoothing out the staggered runes and a low growl emerging from his throat. He had made his way through the corridors of the Aquila will all speed, leaving an obvious trail for any to follow in his determination to reach the cargo before any other did, cradling the Phobos-pattern bolter in his hands and scanning every corner as he moved.

So far all he had found was the dead, but he knew that they would be coming – not that he could say who they were, but he knew that such a prize would not be left unmolested for long; according to his armours internal chronometer, he had slept for over ten-thousand years! That must surely be an error though, the machine spirit playing a trick maybe? There was no way such a thing was possible, unless one had been within the warp, and he did not remember such a thing happening.

The Decurion paused briefly, having come to the site of the fiercest fighting, crimson and purple bodies strewn throughout the large antechamber of perfect architecture. There must have been at least a hundred of them, each motionless where they had fallen, each as covered in dust as he had been not too long before, each a relic of a bygone age that he did not yet know about.

At the farthest end of the chamber stood two huge doors, high and wide enough for two dreadnoughts standing side-by-side to walk through, crafted of adamantium and warded against psychic attack - proof against pretty much anything that could be thrown at them.

That was unless one knew the assorted pass codes, one very much like himself, all he had to do wa-

That was a sound, a most discernible sound! Someone was tracking him after all.

Moving with a lack of noise that one may have thought impossible for such an armoured giant, the Emperor's Child made his way toward a sound of gunfire – not just gunfire but bolterfire at that – making sure his own weapon was loaded as he went; after placing his back against a wall, he peered around the corner to make out three distinct figures. An Astartes there was, clad in the sigils and colours of the Lion's own legion, his firearm barking death at what appeared to be a faintly glowing Orkoid an a rather twisted Martian as well. The time since awakening had just gotten weirder and weirder.

There was no love lost between his own legion and that of the First, but he could not simply let this Brother – and a Techmarine as well, by the appearance of one pauldron – be wiped out by these two adversaries.

“I am with you, Brother,” he half-yelled as he strode forward to stand by the side of the Fallen Angel, levelling his weapon and unleashing it upon the Martian without hesitation.

---

Only a little more time before the ships latched onto the outer hull of the former Emperors Children vessel, then these weak 'Humans' would be used to regain what had been taken, it was so close now that the Farseer smiled once more through Elizabeth. Only when the Canoness-Preceptor looked her way did she let the expression fade, glaring at the other woman and giving a small nod, making the sign of the Aquila over her breastplate and readying those hands – her hands she reminded herself – for battle.

The first round of the Decurion would have struck at the chest of the former techpriest. However, unexpectedly the form dissolved into smoke which rolled along the floor, covering it in a thin black mist.

The entire salvo slammed into the hull behind where it had stood, the rounds digging themselves a good inch into the material before detonating and sending shrapnel flying.
The black mist following the path the ork was taking, towards the fallen angel.

As Urgrugg turned the corner, he was met with a cascade of surprises. First, he discovered that what he'd been tracking was a space marine, but in very unusual looking armor. He had basically nothing by way of knowledge about the various chapters, so the symbols and color of the armor told him nothing at all. The second surprise was a very sudden and very bright light turning on and shining directly into his eyes. Accustomed as he was to the dark of the hulk, this blinded the ork, causing him to real back. Finally, he heard something that sounded like gunfire, but of a magnitude he'd never encountered.

When the first bolter round struck his chest, it hit him hard. The marine had aimed for the ork's center of mass, which was by no means a small target, and true to form he'd hit his mark. Luckily for Urgrugg, though, the marine had aimed at the one spot on his body with any sort of protection on it. As the rounds slammed into his chest, they left deep dents in the thick armor plate wrapped around his torso. Alone, that would have been enough to knock him down. The explosions that followed each hit threw him backwards, making him land about a foot back.

Once he felt himself on the ground, the ork quickly rolled to one side, putting a large chunk of hull between himself and the armored marine. Looking around, he saw the mist that told him his newest 'ally' was more worried about running than making a counter attack. Though, when Urgrugg heard another set of armored footsteps approach, accompanied by further firepower and a battle cry, he quickly decided engaging might not be the best idea after all. If nothing else, there was no telling how many allies the marines had coming, and more than likely it was several.

Taking a moment to concentrate, Urgrugg quickly opened his mind to his surroundings. As he expected, there was a significant number of life forms headed their way, and coming from behind the marines. He couldn't tell how many, or even really how far away they were beyond 'behind the two marines.' However, he was only able to tell that much because of the stark contrast between the two warriors and what was coming from behind them. Urgrugg realized quite quickly, the things coming were not there to aid the marines. If anything, they were coming to feast on the bodies of the old battle field. That, and everything else in the large room.

Gritting his teeth, the ork made a decision. If he was going to make it off this hulk, he would need allies. As had just been proven, his current company would be no help in a fight. That meant making nice with things that would. As he let out a ragged cough, heavily laced with blood, Urgrugg knew that he had found just such a potential ally.

Once more, Urgrugg reached out to the warp. Gathering energy, he felt the loose fabric of his clothes begin to flutter with the sounds of wind coming from seemingly nowhere. His eyes crackling with raw power, he stood, forming the energy he had drawn out into a ball of flame, which floated in his open palm. He waited for just a moment, chanting a spell to contain the powerful sphere he held in his hand, until he heard what he'd been waiting for. As the door behind the marines opened, and a dozen or so mutants began charging in behind them with weapons draw, the ork stepped back out of cover.

Throwing his hand out, he willed the flaming sphere forward. Shooting past the marines, it slammed against the chest of the lead mutant. When it struck it erupted, turning into a massive ball of swirling fire. The hungry warp flame grabbed at every bit of exposed skin, latched tightly to each and every piece of cloth and hair, eating away any unprotected source of fuel for its immense heat. When the flame finally cleared, there were maybe four of the original dozen of mutants left. Each was badly burned, and the bodies of their allies laid around them, smoldering on the ground. The four that were left, though, were larger than the others. Each had at least one extra limb, and growths that looked like insect chitin covered small patches of their bodies. All four wielded some large tool, such as a sledge hammer or a shovel. From the looks of things, they were all still ready to fight.

Xepherial watched with silent satisfaction as he saw his bolterfire hit squarely on target and the ork fall backwards. A faint tendril of smoke lifted from the tip of his weapon as he held it, white wings marking its breadth. A spark snapped at the bent junction of his damaged servo arm as the ominous looking techmarine confirmed the kill from his position. "Enemy neutralized." He said to nobody, only to have to retract that statement to himself as the ork suddenly moved, quickly rolling behind cover.

There was no time to advance upon the ork before Xepherial detected movement behind him. Reacting appropriately, he spun in the direction to defend himself, but was halted by what he saw. A human voice called out from an impossible vision. A purple relic from the long dead past, his past, came to his side, as if one of the desiccated and time-forsaken space marine corpses that lay on the floor had risen and once again taken life. Xepherial had never before seen one of Fulgrim's legion with his own eyes, but the identification was unmistakable despite the dulling affects of time. Thankfully, the long lost brother was on his side. Xepherial stared as if beholding a specter.

Instantly, the techmarine analyzed the direction of his unexpected ally's weapon as he saw Vedius bring it up and take aim. It was to a point behind him again, where the ork had been. Quickly he returned his attention to the ork and was surprised to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a highly augmented mechanicus just before the whole shape of the thing vanished into a cloud of vapor and bolterfire.

Whatever it had been, it seemed to be gone, along with the ork, for the moment. Xepherial dimmed his lights and failed to notice the path the vapors took toward him as he turned to regard Vedius. The Dark Angel's armor was clearly damaged, as he was. Dried astartes blood blended easily against the black and red paint down his side.

As first, he couldn't find the words. There was no reason this Child of the Emperor should be alive after ten thousand years, and yet he was. Xepherial considered the time-warping potential of the warp and its capricious treatment of individuals and gave up on questioning it further. Fate was its own explanation. That being said, he something else to consider. This one had called him brother, specifically. As a chapter, Dark Angels tended to reserve such familial address to members of their own legion, while other legions might be referred to as cousins. Xepherial had been about to give up in his insane search for the "lost brother" the shaman had told him to find, yet here he had found one who had called him such. It was undoubtedly a sign. Xepherial hesitated, for in the same breath, the shaman had also warned him to beware his own kind. Which did the shaman mean? Xepherial had no means to interpret the prophecy, but in this moment he had to make a decision.

"Brother." The wounded techmarine replied in gratitude, leaning toward the former interpretation of the prophecy. "I am greatful for your support. I am Xepherial. Please, tell me what has happened here. How is it you have come to be guardian over..."

Xepherial stopped as he heard the sounds of a cough bounce off the metal walls. Faint light flickered from Urgrugg's eyes where he gathered power in the darkness, and Xepherial raised his weapon. Suddenly, the ork stepped out in plain view, his clothing fluttering in a silent wind, an ominous orb of fire floating above his hand.

"He's a witch! Take cover!" Warnings flared to life on Xepherial's interface from behind him in the same moment, but it was too late to address them. The deathly sphere careened toward the two space marines with an ethereal scream, enlarging as it approached, threatening to consume them both in its anger.

Xepherial dived to the side, witchfire blazing a path behind him into two mutant xenos that had nearly reached him. The impact with the floor sent a jolt of pain through his torso, but he flipped onto his back and opened fire at the remaining mutants using his servo arms for support.

Bolts pummeled the flesh of one of the hellspawned creatures, spattering a rain of blood and gore through it to the other side. Xepherial struggled to stand while the others fought the remaining enemies.

The black vapors rolled along the floor, the passage of the orb of warpfire stirred up swirls in the deathly fog as it moved closer to the two marines and the new ensuing battle.

Why did it have to be a techmarine? As potential allies were, he wasn't really a suitable one at all.
With regular uninitiated mortals, the processes of technology was a mystical and unknown. For one of the Frater Astrotechnicus however the secrets were known.
Perhaps while not many mastered its many hidden concepts, the techmarines would surely recognize proper mechanical rituals compared to those of the warp. Which meant he couldn't solve any mechanical problems he didn't know with the use of ruinous powers.
Troublesome...

Zuriel watched as one of the mutants hefted a large maul and looked at the Emperors child with a dumb look, with far too many needle like pointy long teeth to properly fit in its mouth. One of the them actually went through its lower lip. Before it bellowed.
With what looked like a gust of wind, the roiling ankle high black fog rolled under the feet of the marines and into another direction. Putting himself so that the marines would be in the way of the mutants and so that he wouldn't end up in the firing line of any other powers manifested by his ork 'friend'.

With what would looked like a tornado beginning from the floor and sucking in all the swirling black smoke, he was reformed, pointing his pistol towards the mutants, the ugly teethed one in particular. And fired.
The beam struck its torso, the poor wretch looked down as the strike didn't burn through his flak vest but instead melted it and it began to drip like molten metal... towards the roof.
The beam danced upwards and hit flesh, the mutant began to scream but was quickly silenced as the flesh began to roll itself out of the way of the purple screaming beam. As the energy beam reached the mouth the mutant was luckily dead, it had been a short final moment.
As the jaws were seemingly bending open it seemed like some sort of wretched warp furie clawed itself into the reality through the gash that was created from the hellish pistol.

Hell pistol, just got a whole other meaning.

...apparently, these were uninteresting folks with no opinions other than "yes, you are very convincing, and we shall follow you and be part of your retinue", or something to that effect. Either way, it seemed everybody was willing to follow on after Lucius, up to and including the Ogryn. He promptly began to lead the way through the various corridors, listening out for Genestealer activity and turning the opposite direction if he heard anything of the sort. Speaking of which, he managed to cajole the Ogryn's name out of him - Gaduk, or Ga'duk or something, that sort of syllablistic nonsense - and half-stored the names of the others in his group for later use.

In any case, a little time passed after that, during which the group moved downward a few floors. At some point, though, the sounds of heated battle drew Lucius' attention, moreso because the noises made were unmistakeably human in nature rather than the skittering of Genestealer claws he'd grown used to avoiding. And, of course, because they were seemingly nearby... actually, it sounded a lot like two groups of sentient beings fighting one another. Now, what might cause that, he wondered? Perhaps a congregation of Chaos against some Imperial Loyalists? An Eldar clave versus a tribe of orks? Or maybe he was overthinking this, and should check the situation out before making a judgement call on how to proceed. He waved for the rest of his group to follow on after him, (relatively) silently triapsing toward the fight in question, fingering the handle of his sword, ready to fight back against whoever decided to strike first.

@Jbcool@Klomster@Necroes@Wraithblade6@Sophrus

@Necroes@Sophrus@Klomster@Wraithblade6@BCTheEntity

All was confusion for Vedius, all around were unfamiliar things happening that in his ten-thousand years or so he had never seen before; members of the Mechanicum turning into black mists, a Greenskin capable of blowing apart enemy warriors at a whim, and a lone member of the First Legion, all gathered aboard what had previously been a vessel for his own legion and was now somewhat of a tomb instead.

As the ball of psychic power launched itself toward the mutants, unseen as of yet by Xepherial or himself, he too launched himself out of the projectiles trajectory and landed heavily behind a jutting piece of bulkhead that had pierced the floor of the ship. With his sense of unease growing, an odd sensation for any Astartes to feel, he plucked his dropped bolter from the floor and glanced about as mutants began to die by the hand of swirling black clouds and the Dark Angel annihilated another of the remaining creatures.

Who were these interlopers? Why were they here? How long had be been asleep?!

Could things get any wo-

“There they are!” Came an amplified shout from somewhere behind the mutants, further bursts of bolter fire coming from the doorway beyond, “neutralise the enemy, in the name of the God-Emperor!”

Feminine forms appeared from the doorway, their corset like bodices of black and their symbol the fleur-de-lys, all manner of weapons clutched in their hands and the fanaticism in the eyes of those that went bareheaded was visible even from this distance.

“What is this?!” Choked Vedius out loud, his voice a robotised burst of puzzlement, “warrior women? God-Emperor?”

For one moment he believed that they might be able to solve this without murdering one another, but something stirred within them as they clapped eyes on his purple armour and the golden symbol of the Aquila, something that bought explosive-tipped bolts toward him like a hail of rain...one which he hardly avoided, tossing himself over the cover which he was behind and landing hard on the other side.

Things had just gotten far more interesting.

---

These walking sacks of food had been fortunate so far, for they had evaded him...but that time was now over.

Now gathered in enough strength to overwhelm them, gathered up as he was within one of the vent shafts nearby, the Broodlord squirmed and screeched as he sent out a mental pulse which gathered to him a veritable army of Tyranid organisms – some pure Genestealers and others the rotten and human like rabble of further generations – all prepared to lay down their lives for the Hive Mind and the Broodlord in particular.

A powerful lunge of his legs and the creature was off like a rocket, the rest of its kind hard on its heels, drawn to the ensuing conflict as a shark was drawn to blood.

It was the foremost oncoming wave of nattering and hissing creatures that Lucius was about to encounter, the corridor filling slowly with them as they sought out new bio-mass to consume, the only other way to go being actually toward the sound of battle coming from nearby - it was either that or try to fight the Tyranids on there own.

The distorted cavern reverberated with the noise of roaring beasts, explosions, the crackle of fire, and the clang of metal against metal. Between the space marines, the intersubstantiating mechanicus, and the ork warlock, the alien menace was once again quickly reduced to pulp and twitching remains. But things could always get worse.

With little time for respite, a feminine voice rang out like a bell from a dark corner in the back, behind more mutants yet unseen. It sounded older, but fierce, a stark contrast to the inhuman screeching and masculine tones Xepherial had grown accustomed to. One might even say it was beautiful. The women's bolters fired and the mutants fell before them as the Order of Our Martyred Lady advanced haughtily into the room. They shouted and gunned down the remaining enemy with admirable efficiency, quickly judging everyone that remained.

In knee-jerk reaction, Xepherial instantly withdrew his bolter, aiming it straight up and away from the Sisters who had suddenly appeared behind his falling targets.

Human.
Human.
Human....

Warnings flared on his interface. It was a pre-programmed safety protocol, he could not fire in the direction of vulnerable, human allies. "A-Allies?" Xepherial mentally stammered. He stood stunned for a moment. He had never seen allies like this, bald, warrior women, clearly with Imperial equipment and markings all over them. Confused as he was, he was pleased to see the ladies finally getting their time out in battle. Why it only took ten thousand years... He dared to feel a spark of hope and pride in that brief moment before things went terribly wrong.

As a unit, the fanatical women suddenly all opened fire at the ancient Third legioner with unprecedented rage. Xeph was shocked. Target-locks came to life in front of Xepherial as his powerarmor's machine spirit tried to read his own spirit through the black carapace, but each box-shaped lock turned red as his armor's cogitator spammed,

Human. Target-abort.
Target-abort.
Target-abort.
Target-abort....

He couldn't bring himself to override the safety. These were women! Human women! He simply couldn't fire at them! Whole seconds ticked by while he was utterly useless and Vedius flew over a bulkhead to take cover. A hail of bullets followed the son of Fulgrim, many having made impact against his armor before he was clear. There was no telling if the purple guardian was significantly damaged, but Xepherial calculated it was unlikely. The real question was why in the Emperor's name did the Imperials immediately fire at him? Time slowed down as Xepherial watched Sororitas barrels re-direct in his direction, and suddenly, his memories came back and put it together. He made a devastating realization.

His own kind taking aim at him... The sight of it triggered the resurgence of a horrifying memory, one that he had suppressed ever since his awakening on a foreign world eons later. But it was still there. He was on Caliban. The planet was being bombarded and invaded by the Terran-born Dark Angels. The Emperor had been critically injured by Horus, and news had it that many of the noble Astartes had forsaken their vows and turned traitor. Whole chapters and their primarchs had gone over to the chaotic forces, others were ripping themselves apart with civil war, and the First Legion was apparently no exception. Fear and chaos reigned, and all trust was broken. Xepherial had fired upon them, his own brethren, although he had to force himself to do so at first. Seeing them in their cracked and worn armor as they attacked their Calibanite brothers, their confidence and ferocity, was both an inspiration and a painful reminder of his own wasted decades in exile. It felt wrong, but he hated them, the ones that fought in the crusade. In truth, the Calibanite forces were nothing compared to these true, veteran Dark Angels, and the shameful fact was, Xepherial and his brothers were desperately fighting to survive. Luther said El'Johnson and his army were the ones who were traitors. THEY were the ones who had failed and deserved to die. Xepherial hadn't had the strength nor the time to properly question it then, but now, as he was once again under Imperial bolterfire, he knew. This is why the women had fired upon Vedius and why they now turned their weapons against him. Xepherial was on the wrong side of that same ten thousand year old war. The Emperor's Children had been among the traitors, and now he realized, so was he. "Beware your own." He recalled the prophecy, and it all made sense.

Quickly, without so much thought as instinct, Xepherial raised his hands and tried to communicate. "Stop! Hold your fire." His voice sounded static and mechanical through the grill of his helm. The Sisters didn't even hesitate. He may as well have been a target-dummy for all the good it did him. Drawing in, he hunched and shielded himself behind his large pauldron as several explosive rounds slammed home in answer, knocking him several steps back. The alerts and warnings he had silenced since his long fall and impalement flared back to life, indicating structural damage. He had to take cover, now, but it was too late. A blast rocked against his right shoulder and twisted him back, wrenching on his torso. The following shot found deadly purchase in the open wound on his side, blasting shrapnel into his abdomen and burning the flesh against the inside of his armor.

Blinding pain seized Xepherial and he was on his back in the blink of an eye. He was bleeding out. Smoke rose from his blasted plate. He was dying. The machinespirit of his armor flicked on a terminal distress signal, a small beacon that was intended to guide his brothers to his corpse after his death. Xepherial gasped in the clutches of agony. "...wrong side of the war." He rasped. "My brothers..." Oh how he wanted to find them, to return to them, to right all these sorrowful wrongs, but it didn't look like he would get the chance. Some sanity yet clung to him. Why the hell had he been shot? He wasn't hostile. Had it been so long that humans had lost all reason?? He laid against the unyielding, slanted floor, unable to feel his legs as his mind whirred. Regret stabbed at him more deeply than any of his injuries, but what was it going to matter?

The cacophony that ensued when the sisters of battle entered the battle was deafening. A bit simple-mindedly Zuriel found himself mostly thinking. Shit shit shit shit...
He knew them from memory. True, he had never met, nor witnessed the sisters of battle in person. But he knew by heart that this was sisters of battle, of the order of our martyred lady.
His master must be laughing with glee when providing imagery of how these soldiers of the emperor slay heretics and psykers with ease and violent efficiency.
Zuriel knew that he had little chance against these soldiers, even less so when he came to think of that he wasn't even a very good battle psyker.

The bolter fire grew more intense and with the words of 'Stop! Hold your fire.' The dark angel seemed to have been downed.
Shit shit shit.
He threw his head around, looking for solutions. The way the sisters were coming from was obviously not an option, the side door probably still had several mutants of the hive mind arriving any minute and the direction he had come from seemed to be a bit too far away.
It was there he saw it, a massive closed blast door, with a control panel next to it.
He hadn't paid any heed to it when entering the room but now it looked like his best bet. Seeing he didn't want to be burnt by holy promethium fire.

With a few hurried steps he began to activate the control station, entered his mech-wright access code.
*Meep, access denied.* A sound followed by a mechanical voice and text on the little screen.
Ok, an older mech-wright access code.
*Meep, access denied.*
Zuriel was getting sweaty now, and just typed in a number which he recalled from nowhere.
*Meep, the adeptus arbites does not have access to this vessel.*
He punched the wall as he looked around him. A bolter shell struck up to the right of him and sent shrapnel flying. Zuriel cursed his dark master and tried another code.
*Meep, access denied.* Of course that didn't work, that was a laundry room code for a block house in hab block 3 on Paratella Secundus. How he knew that was obvious, seeing Zuriel had never been to Paratella.

-"Damn!" Zuriel let out with a frustrated yell, he kept pushing in codes with little success.

The warp, the Imaterium, a deadly and mysterious place where thought was made reality. Not a place one would want to hurtle through in a heavily damaged ship, which was the situation Azazel and his disciples were currently in. The Strike cruiser that had carried him and his steadily shrinking retinue had made one last hop to warp, attempting to escape their previous pursuers in spite of the blood the marines sought. Once a brotherhood of about thirty marines now they numbered five. The bridge was covered in corpses and spattered heavily with blood as the five Corsairs panted shudderingly, some grasping at their skulls. Bravis stood stock still in the center of the bridge, two dead Corsairs on either side of his feet. Azazel himself stood amongst the torn wreckage of what was once a Captains chair, now a twisted and ruined mess of leather and steel. His chain-sword idled, still dripping blood while his boltguns barrel still smoked. His blood spattered helm was focused on the large bridge window, looking out into the roiling empyrean as he panted heavily...

'Screams... blood... blood screams... quiet now... ggrrrrrrr... pounding ears... increased heart rates... still... need... relief... subjects...', he glanced about the bridge as his thoughts encroached in on him once more. All their foes were dead, only his pupils remained... subjects... no. Even the surgeries could not force him to butcher his own students and he had not the time for tests now. He stepped from raised dais down onto the deck proper. What Mortal crew still lived seemed quite injured... but they were not finished.

"Sssstaus flesh! Now!", the Dark Apothecary growled to any human able to respond.

"S-s-ship in warp transit L-lord Azazel... Gellar fields f-failing... destination unsure, y-you had us jump withou-"

The marine snarled and smashed a fist into the panel next to the sniveling human, "Who-who ordered a random jump?!", he said, glaring through his helmet at the man who shied away from the Chaos Space marine. "y-you did sir after k-k-kil-ing the c-c-c-c-c-aptain..."

Azazel glanced back at the Captains chair, now seeing the horrendously ruined body which he had no doubt trampled upon heavily to get down to the crew pit. Slowly it came back to him between shattered memories that were not his...

'C-captain refused order... s-suicide it was... crushed bod- BLOOD BLOOD BLOO- body... paste... BLOOD... sh=ship jumped... th-then FOR BADAB AND HURON!', the last was his, on the eve of Badabs siege... he thought... or maybe it was someone else? Where was he?

He looked around the bridge... he was on a ship... in the warp... they were going t-

Suddenly everything stopped. A great, loud sound of tearing steel and smashing bulk-heads bled the ears of every human still alive as the cacophony filled the air. The Marines mag locked their boots on instinct, humans were not so lucky. Any not strapped in flew at intense speed against walls, consoles and even the bridge window. They screamed as bones and organs were pulped in an instant from the extreme and sudden loss of speed. By the time the stretching, screaming metal had settled no humans were left alive on the bridge as those strapped in were folded around their restraints like so much paper. The bridge window strained and warped before popping, scything glass shredding any nearby humans and scratching astartes power armor.

Azael looked once more at the window... battle!

Bolters... fire... screams and shouts... he saw them, a group of lifeforms now just outside the window. The ship had re-materalised inside of another ship and now they were right next to a fight.

"SCREAMING BLOOD! IT FILLS MY HEAD! STOP STOP IT!", Azazel screamed out through his vox. The pounding in his ears... it was back. His head was flush, it was pounding like ten thousand drums. Blood screaming... he had to release it. They had to lose blood!

"IT MUST BE SILEEEENNCCCCEEED!", his war-cry was taken up by his pupils, five Marines rushing through the now broken bridge window into the room of the Space hulk, blades and barrels raised for combat. Azazel and his pupils charged the zealous sisters, screaming their oaths for blood and screams. Azazel answered their fire with his own, using one hand he emptied what was left of his clip into the sisters, firing wildly into the group as he closed the distance, whirring blade seeking purchase.

It found it, tugging deep into one of the power armoured women, chewing through her abdomen and spraying gore as guts were ripped out with a scream. Azazel wheeled around to her once more, cracking his power armoured knee against her face-plate, cracks spider-webbing along it from the point of impact.

"DIE CORPSE WORSHIPPERS! DIE AND QUIET THE SCREAMING BLOOD! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!", he cackled as his pupils rushed their own targets. From one combat to another, with more screaming, foul blood.

Ga'duk wandered the Hulk with Thorn and several new people. He didn't bring up much conversation as he was trying to be vigilant against the gene-stealers or whatever horrors came at them. He was quickly becoming bored with the vigilance, and hungry. His stomach had grumbled several times, each time Ga'duk searched his little ammo bag for a snack and it was disappointing each time. Currently it was fine, He was accustomed to going a while without food sometimes boarding actions on an enemy vessel could take many hours or when food rations where withheld from him for punishment. It was still an uncomfortable feeling that he was displeased by and he was about to announce, loudly, that he was hungry. He never got the chance, as he inhaled to speak the sound skittering tyrannid rose behind them.

Ga'duk uttered what sounded like a very childish "uh-oh" except for it being several octaves too deep, before chambering an explosive shell into his grenade gauntlet and choking his grip up on his ax to swing it easier in the corridor. He turned to face the incoming Tyrannid backing up with the rest of the group, eyes searching for hostiles. The sound grew in volume and intensity quickly even while the incoming horde was not yet visible, to the point that Ga'duk was becoming concerned above thoughts of food. When the Gene-stealers finally came into the light of their lamps Ga'duk was stunned for a moment as the Tyrannid horde was so vast that they could not be confined to the floor of the corridor and the front of the charge was covering the whole interior of the corridor, and likely the outside of it as well. Within the great horde a huge Broodlord charged as well. Ga'duk glaced back at Thorn, even Ga'duk knew that the odds of surviving this was approximately 0. He pleaded, desperate for orders unsure what action he could take to protect his impromptu unit from being consumed

"Wh-What do boss?" he said, the false start the entire indication of his fear. He glanced back at the rushing horde and made a decision for himself before Thorn could speak, something that he would have otherwise been proud of if about 12 memories of commissars executing cowards didn't flare up in his head. It didnt matter however, there where none of the mean men in funny hats here right now so he could worry about it later. He turned on his heel and ran for his life, with a surprisingly calm manta of "No, No, No, No, No..."

The sprint for his life did little to protect him however as he ran out of the corridor and noticed a unit of Battle Ssters who where embattled with Space Marines. Several bolter shells detonated around him, sending hot shrapnel digging into his exposed flesh. He tried to think desperately and decided Thorn, or one of the other marines, could figure the next move out for him. Because deciding for himself has not seemed to improve the situation.

A lot of things happened very abruptly, and none of them were strictly speaking a good thing for the ork. Watching as faction after faction came storming forth from every conceivable position, the shaman found himself awestruck with the whole situation. Watching as more and more figures, wrapped in power armor and freely firing off bolter rounds came storming in, first from behind the two he'd meant to engage and then from a ship that appeared from the warp, only for a huge man to come rushing from behind with the sounds of a tyranid horde following, Urgrugg was stunned. It was as though Gork himself had planned some grand masterpiece of combat to unfold upon this otherwise dull space hulk.

Planting his feet, Urgrugg reached out for the power of the warp. The hole punched into the materium by the warp drive gave him ample supply to draw from. His first instinct was to engage, to throw himself into the midst of glorious combat and feel the glee of carnage and slaughter as he dealt out death and destruction to all that lay before him. With the surge of power he felt, the strength that he knew Mork would grant him if he should throw reason to the wind and fight, the ork would be like a force of nature given sentience among the foolish mortals that filled the room before him. As he reached out with his power to take hold of the veil, that he could rend it asunder to be the start to his rampage, he hesitated.

Something-the ork, as ever, knew not what-made him stop. A tug at the back of his mind stole his attention from his intent, diverting his thoughts from their course of unadulterated devastation. Some small voice spoke out, a calm amidst the whirlwind of his thoughts, and yet deafening with its few words. 'Then what happens?'

The question was, of course, insane. Not the actual question itself, but that it existed within his mind at all. Any other ork would never have that thought cross their mind in the presence of such a great fight to begin with. In fact, nothing would cross their mind at all, save the 'Waaagh!' of their warcry as they rush to engage. Yet, here he was, staying his hand and holding back the floodgates of the energy he could unleash. Urgrugg found himself in this position often, almost frustratingly so, and not once had he simply let the thought pass. Ever since he began having those thought, he did not, could not, simply let them pass.

As his eyes shot sparks that left black trails of charred flesh around the rims of his eyes, as his clothes flew around in a windstorm that didn't exist, the air around him humming with energy, he waited, and watched. His ally, if the magus was that much, was seemingly trying to open a door, but showed no signs of success. The marine in purple armor had jumped to cover, and was currently under fire. The other, the one in the strange armor, appeared to be wounded. Both of them were still alive, though, and that was important. Though why they were there was unknown to him, the sudden appearance of the newest set of power-armored humans was drawing fire away from where Urgrugg intended to go.

Looking around, a smile crept across his face as the shaman found what he sought. Finally ready, he unleashed his power, and it was all too eager to comply. Instead of the great blast of destruction that it had originally been intended to unleash, a powerful spell escaped his lips to fold it to another, though no less awesome feat. With a great cacophony of rending metal and falling debris, an unseen force ripped a massive away a massive sheet of the foot-thick bulkhead Urgrugg had hid behind before. With a grunt of effort, he sent the huge wall flying through the air, throwing extra force behind it so it rammed against the floor, embedding feet into the solid metal, creating a barrier ten feet high and nearly fifteen long between the two marines and the rest of the battle that was going on.

A few of the sisters, seeing it, had tried to rush forward to continue to engage. Four had made the attempt, three had failed, and the fourth's head rolled across the floor, the rest of her crushed under the massive piece of metal. Now cut off from the battle, Urgrugg rushed forward, using his orkish strength to heft the techmarine over his shoulder, running towards the door. Along the way, he yelled for the other marine to follow him, the barrier he had made providing ample cover until one of the factions decided to disengage and flank to either side of it.

As he was running, he felt the last of the warp energy leave him. It had been no small effort to control that much energy, and while his biology enabled him to continue, he knew the toll would be steep. Though, as he ran, the exhaustion he was expecting did not come over him. His body did not feel heavy, nor were his footsteps slow. Usually, by now he'd feel sluggish, and move as though walking through pudding after such a massive expenditure of power. This time was different, though. If anything, he felt lighter, especially on his right...

"Where'z muh Bleedin' arm?!" bellowed the furious ork in his native tongue, looking down at the bleeding stump that only moments before had been his right arm. Looking back, he saw it, or he thought that was it. It was burnt, shriveled, almost like it had been sheared off his shoulder only to be struck by lightning. Stopping, he turned back briefly enough to grab it, then continued forward. He had no idea how he would go about fixing it, or even if he could. In either case, he wasn't leaving something that important behind. Suddenly remembering, he turned back again to pick up the techmarine he'd dropped to pick up the limb, though with considerably more difficulty this time, then continued towards the door.

'Ohhh, I messed up,' Lucius muttered under his breath, too quietly for others to hear, as the first of the alien creatures came into view. The Ogryn's "Uh-oh" was about right, considering the noise coming from that direction... aaaand that was certainly a horde of Genestealers, complete with giant leader monstrosity. And wouldn't you know, they'd just started coming from the way they'd originally come too. So, as it happened, they'd need to go the way of the gun fight regardless... and wouldn't you know, it sounded many times louder than it had before.

'Wh-what do, boss?' the Ogryn Ga'duk asked, only to make his own decision and flee before he could order anything. It was a good idea. Not that Lucius was one to escape from a fight, but sometimes, a last stand was suicidal rather than honourable, whilst a tactical retreat was the best possible solution. In other words, the best thing to do when odds were stacked against you, and there was no bad that could come from it, was...

'RUN!'

He turned, felt something loud and screaming and utterly pathetic clamber on to his back, and the entire area promptly jolted as the sound of screaming metal tore through the room from right next door. The cons of this event: he and nearly everything else in the vicinity was knocked violently to the ground, Lucius himself being saved from horrific injury through sheer reflex, and Ga'duk seemingly alive and upright for raw bulk and being too stupid to notice the violence of his surroundings. Everyone else... well, aside from the worm clinging to him, he didn't think they'd be doing so well in the very near future.

The pros of the event: the Genestealers had been knocked down too, or else had dug themselves into the walls to save themselves, and were taking a lot longer to reorganise and reorient than it took Lucius to leap to his feet and begin running again, following after Ga'duk as he made his escape.

'Why are you on my back?!' he yelled at the minion still attached to him, to which he received the admittedly logical response of 'AHDUHWANNADAHLOHSIHLOHSHAH!' in both ears, which he promptly tuned out via his Lyman's Ear. He supposed he'd work as a meatshield for his back, for a couple of moments.

For his front, he realised as he turned the corner, not so much. What... what in the Warp were these? A second of analysis showed him, humans, obviously, but clad in strange armour that, if he looked at it wrong, almost seemed to be some strain of downsized power armour... with a great many dedications to something or other attached to the suits, no less. Either way, he was relatively quiet approaching, meaning he could have snuck up if he didn't catch their attention too badly... but, they were in his way.

'Ga'duk, keep going!' he yelled at the Ogryn, seemingly paralysed with indecision ahead. 'Ladies, move or die!'

Those who noticed aimed their bolters at him. The guns, at least, were recognisable, if smaller than typical.

'Die it is!' he uttered, flicking out both close-combat weapons and bearing down on the armoured warrior-women, covering the remaining distance between them in a second or so. More than enough time to get hit with bursts of surpressive fire, and what a pity that he had no cover, and no good reason to stop. Though he ducked and weaved plenty in that momentary charge, he still counted two hits, one smashing into and blowing off a large chunk of his right arm down to the bone, and the second glancing off of his ribcage hard enough to break it, despite its hardening. Adrenaline numbed the pain, his sheer physique allowed him to keep going regardless of injuries. He'd deal with the aftermath of those later. For now, he'd gotten into the fray, and his very first target had just enough time to see what he was running from and scream 'TYRAN-' before being decapitated.

And after that, it was little more than a blur of dodging aimed guns and melee strikes, and lashing out with his blades at whatever came in range which wasn't instantly identifiable as "friend". At some point, he took another hit, a chainsword cutting deep into his thigh before he put his combat knife through the wielder's heart; after that, he stowed the knife and swung the chainsword around, finger barely fitting through the trigger guard and forcing it "on" at all times, but what a thrill to finally have a reasonable weapon in hand at the end of the day.

At some point, he spotted Ga'duk again, making his way toward a small group near the great doors on the other end of the room, just as a wall of adamantine was flung by- he thought he saw a flash of green skin and various colours of armour before the metal bulkhead became a metal barrier that he now had to make his way around. Great. Was his servant dead on his back yet? Nope, still screaming in fear and terror. Brilliant. Either way, he made his way to Ga'duk, patting the Ogryn on the shoulder whilst yelling over the cacaphony of gunfire: 'We need to go around that metal wall!' Why that way? Because it was away from the goddamned Genestealers.

Apparently, a minor flash of memory agreed with him. For what purpose, he had no clue, but he now recalled ever so slightly more of that last battle of Caliban before El'Jonson's defeat. So, around the wall it was, and then toward the giant doors on the other side. Considering the nature of the xeno-things he'd run from, he might not even make it there if they were already in the room... but he'd be damned if he didn't die trying. No, scratch that, he was damned either way, but he might as well make his last moments count for something.

@Jbcool@Klomster@Necroes@Wraithblade6@Sophrus@agentmanatee

@Necroes@BCTheEntity@Wraithblade6@Klomster@Sophrus@agentmanatee

Everything happened so quickly, the whole world seeming to swim in his mind as battle was joined from a hundred directions by a hundred combatants, an overriding sense of nausea – very odd indeed for one of the Astartes to feel – overtaking the Emperor's Child as he gazed around him from behind the visor of his helmet.

Yes, just as he suspected, everything was turning to so much excrement.

The cargo...he had to protect the cargo.

“Watch my back, Brothers!” He bellowed, the robotic sound of his grill making it seem as if an automaton had shouted it, the Marine clearly seeing another time and another place within his mind, “we must defend the shipment from these interlopers.”

Taking hold of his phobos-pattern weapon and rising from the floor into a scene worse than that of any Hieronymus Bosch painting, Vedius strode through it like the walking avatar of destruction that he was – his bolter blasting explosive-tipped rounds into human and alien flesh alike, shrapnel and indirect hits taking chunks of ceramite from his amethyst armour to uncover the grey beneath, all the while he never stopped until he had reached the vast doorway.

By this time his magazine was dry, another slapped almost casually into place as he located the code-pad for the door, hoping that Xepherial, the Orkoid and all others (all seen in his mind as fellow Astartes for the moment) would rather see him succeed and gain them entry than cause them to die a gruesome death.

“One more moment...”

With a hiss of vast pistons and a shaking that caused many to lose their footing the doorway began to open, beyond it an oddly small – compared to the size of the door – chamber comprised of several pulsing tanks of something and black metal walls, ceiling and floor; they had but moments to get inside before the doors closed again, and Vedius did not intend to die here.

“Everyone inside!”

He was, as it should be, the very first through the widening crack of the door, and already entering the commands to shut the door behind him. If anyone remained without for more than a few minutes, they would be left in the hell-scape without to perish.

One thing that seemed off about the place, and would affect Urgrugg specifically, was that the entire chamber was a blank zone. Within these warded walls there was no presence of the warp, no signature for him to tap into, it would be in the last unsettling for him and in the most completely disorientating.

As the emperor's children marine buffed Zuriel aside and put in the code the chaos of the scene was made apparent to him.
Bolters, flamers, chainswords, claws and autoweapons clammering like the end of the world.
But Zuriel's mind was transfixed upon the feeling which flooded out of his only reasonable escape. Pure and utter emptiness and shielding from the warp. There was just cold and silent in there.

A later problem he gathered and slipped inside the now closing blast doors. While standing in there he felt what he remembered as dread mixed with normality, so this is how the world felt before the accident?
Zuriel felt weak and pointless, he hid in a corner, he could not even turn to mist, completely thrown back into the prison that was his life before the liber mechanica.
Trying to regain his composure, he opened the book to read, but the pages were blank.
He violently flipped through the pages, all empty... except page 172 which was the first page he had opened in the book when he found it.
It was not empty, just a single word.

"Wait"

With a far calmer motion he now closed the book and put it back at his hip, reaching for his hellpistol and raising it.
Zuriel found himself sitting behind a barrel, which suited him fine, he was out of sight and none would mind him. At least hopefully until he had gathered himself fully.