Ga'duk was not scared of the raging conflict, persay, it was chaotic and confusing and he was starting to have a very difficult time figuring friend from foe. Nobody was wearing an imperial guard uniform or any kind of standardized equipment, it was very difficult. Thorn came to his rescue giving him a direction and orders. Simple orders he could follow. However it meant wading through the bloodiest portion of the battle. The sisters were wavering under the combined assault from the genestealers and the new Chaos marines, but they hadnt broken. Ga'duk nodded at Thorn, "OK BOSS" he shouted over the cacophony of bolters and chain swords. He peeked around the corner for a moment and rolled his shoulders adjusting the comfort of his armor preparing for a very exciting next few moments.

He took a step forward to charge head long into the fray, and paused to bellow a barbaric warcry that ecoed through the halls over even the bolter fire. Several battle sisters jerked towards him training their bolters on him as he charged. Most of the shells detonated on the walls behind him with only a few finding their mark, the sisters exhaustion and surprise making their aim waiver. The few shells that did hit their mark shrugged off his armor saving his life. When Ga'duk reached the sisters he hit them like a Squiggoth, shoving them aside making a hole for himself and the others. He did not slow and kept pushing forward, using his weight and strength to toss any assailant away or simply bowl them down. His momentum stopped suddenly in the midst of the fray when he suddenly found a Chaos Marine in his path with a whirring chain sword carving though his armor and biting flesh. Ga'duk howled in suprise and pain reaching out and grabbing the marine by the breast plate with one hand and the marine's sword arm with the other, dropping both his axe and grenade gauntlet. Without thinking he began pulling the two apart with all his strength, not noticing the several bolter shells detonating against his armor rendering it nearly destroyed. With a sickening crack of breaking bone and ceramite the Marine's arm came free.

Ga'duk dropped the arm and hurled the wounded marine with all his strength in the direction of the other fleeing party, using the broken soldier as a wrecking ball creating a path through the rest of the battle. Before taking advantage of the newly created hole he reached down and picked up his axe. He swung the axe several times cleaving through the sisters of battle and genestealers that got in his path before reaching the closing blast door. He reached out and grabbed the door wedging his shoulder in beneath the door holding it up against the several tonns of pressure trying to close it while he waited for thorn and the rest to file through.

Being closer than the rest to the sealed room, Urgrugg was able to make it in behind Zuriel. Much like the magi, Urgrugg was uncomfortable with the effects of the null field. As infused as he was with its energy, it took effort for him to even move while inside the room. This, of course, brought about a very unceremonious fall to the ground for the wounded tech-marine the ork had been carrying.

Taking a few small steps out of the way, Urgrugg simply leaned his back against the nearest wall before sinking to the ground. He watched as others spilled into the room, somewhat surprised to see more than just the four he'd expected to enter. The large-it looked like a human colored warboss, if he was being honest-holding the door open was earning a fair bit of respect for his effort. Though, why he felt it was necessary to hold the door open was anyones guess.

Now away from the powers of the warp, he felt his orkish biology quickly taking hold. Responding to the damage he'd taken, his body was trying to repair itself, not only the damage to his arm but also the perceived damage that was his daemonic mutations. As gone as he was, there was no hope of ever actually returning to what he was. However, his body would not listen to reason, so the only thing for it was to take advantage of the situation. With a firm grip and a small shout of effort, he rammed the bone of his severed arm into the stump under his shoulder. When he felt bone strike bone, he stopped pushing, but not before. It hurt like hell, and it was impossible to tell if it would even do him any good, but at the moment it was the only option available.

Oh, good. A way out of the room was opening up. And it was still away from the Genestealers. So, Lucius began fighting his way towards it, because why shouldn't he? He had every right to not let himself die just the same as anybody else. Indeed, as he made his way round the wall, he could see Ga'duk charging ahead of him, making mincemeat of the assorted warrior-women, and even a red-armoured Space Marine whose arm was torn clean off, thrown through the crowd to forge a path for Ga'duk towards...

Fuck, the door was closing.

FUCK, he suddenly had a Genestealer's claws through his gut. Almost reflexively, Lucius stabbed his sword into his own body, through the alien arm that had impaled him and serendipitously into its head, pulling himself free from the- was the worm on his back still alive after all that?! Warp's sake, he was either the luckiest or unluckiest man alive. And still screaming, at that. No wonder its attention had been drawn so readily...

And no wonder one of the humans, this one naked save for some robes or strips of cloth or something, now stepped into the gap Ga'duk had created, wielding a... okay, this was ridiculous. There was no way a normal human could just wield a chainsword that big unassisted. Even he'd have trouble using something like that. And it was on fire, too, thanks to the flamethrower attached to it. Why did it have a flamethrower attached to it?

'DIE, HERETIC, DIE!' the woman screamed, charging Lucius with the oversized weapon raised above her head. Heretic? Heretic to what, exactly? He could, and perhaps would, have made a good long duel out of questioning her if he felt it was appropriate, but it seemed the doorway that had opened was already threatening to close, leaving him trapped in here with the warrior-women... and the Genestealers. So, he instead stepped to one side as she swung, decapitating her with ease as she overextended herself, and then himself charged to reach the door before it was too late, sacrificing the chainsword to practically fling it into the face of another of the power armoured opponents who tried to stop him. There would probably be more scattered around elsewhere.

And when he reached the doorway at last, who else but Ga'duk was trying to hold it open? 'I'm here, Ga'duk,' he muttered into the Ogryn's ear as he sidled past, 'you can get out from under there now.' He still felt a need to manipulate the Ogryn into doing what he wanted, and would rather not lose a potentially loyal minion so readily. Indeed, as he entered the rather dark-themed room, it seemed there were quite a few people who might or might not qualify for similar positions, though he kept his blade drawn just in case. There was an Ork, it seemed, which was trying to reattach one of its lost arms... and it would probably succeed, knowing Orkish biology. There was some Mechanicus member, apparently suffering from some malediction or other. Probably lost some fancy bit of technology in the other room, knowing their sort. Somebody or something lying down in the shadows of the room, and he'd examine that later in case disturbing it made it attack them. His own servant, who he now peeled off his back and placed on to the ground, leaving him to cry and piss himself into whatever stupor he wanted. And...

'Finally, somebody recognisable,' Lucius uttered to himself, recognising the livery of the Emperor's Children on the Marine standing next to the code-pad that, it seemed, handled opening and closing the immense door. Based on the sudden jolt of memory flooding through him- a rare flicker from before the Battle of Caliban, detailing a moment wherein a visitor came to Caliban briefly, hailing from the IIIrd Legion- and his own knowledge of them that came with that flicker, it was clear that the Emperor's Children remained very much in league with the Dark Angels, at least in his own time. But, well, Lucius couldn't exactly tell the man that some daemonic entity or another had stolen his memories, for how would that be seen? More importantly, how would he even identify himself as part of the Ist-

Ooooooooh shit, there was the pain from his wounds. He stumbled a bit, leaning on his weapon for support. He'd probably be alright, considering his enhanced biology... only, without some medical assistance or another, he got the impression his ribcage might not heal properly, and likewise, his arm would definitely never be quite the same after this fight. Having a chunk of flesh blown off will do that to a limb. And if he'd gotten his intestines damaged... that might be a bit dangerous for him, realistically.

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

Singing Blood, Seeking Clarity

"BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD! SCREEEEAM SWEET AGONY FOR ME! A THOUSAND DROPS A THOUSAND SONGS!"

He laughed and screamed maniacally at the top of his lungs, bringing the butt of his bolt-gun into one of the Sororitas' temples, a sickening crunch announcing the pulping of her brain meats. The sound was glorious, screaming turned to song as he swung again, one of the Sisters wielding an Eviscerator, Repentia, charged Azazel. The two dueled for some time, enveloped in the dance of death so much as to nearly miss the other marines in the room. Colors blurred but one thing was true, the Dark Apothecary's HUD made it clear their injuries. Their implants had been picked up by the advanced helmets systems almost as soon as he had entered the room and the blaring warning signs and klaxons detailing very serious injuries. Pulped organs, heavy bleeding, damaged implants, the works. But... they were not his pupils... there were not team designations or anything else but the damages... yet the klaxons intrigued him. Subjects? Old instincts? Couldn't tell... to much screaming.

All this time he and the Repentia screamed at one another, one oaths to the emperor and the other a combination of gibberish, shouting for blood and screams and snarls. Eventually, the dance ended. He smashed his armored boot down on the woman's foot crushing it into blood paste. She screamed and left herself open, being impaled through the chest by Azazel's Chainsword. Blood sprayed across the deep crimson and black armor before hw wrenched it free of her ruined chest cavity, limp body falling to the ground with a sucking chest wound. He turned to try and scan the room, but was interrupted as a burst of bolt shells smashed against his pauldron, ceramite and adamantium cracking and the force threatening to spin him around. He growled and turned to the offender, the Sister of battle was smashing a fres clip into her boler. Azazel had yet to reload his own... perhaps this was the en-

His moment of clarity was interrupted by the Soroitas being tackled by a screaming genestealer who proceeded to shred her to bits. Now, Azazel in a moment of clarity born from another, scanned the field.

'Surrounded, lost. The field is bloody with ork blood and my squad is compromised. We will die here... wait! An escape!
A weakness in their line! We must make it there! For G-', the memory came to a shuddering halt as Azazel was returned to reality, watching one of the unkown marines slide into the closing exit door... the memory made it clear his next action. He turned and snagged the gorget of his nearest pupil, screaming into the vox channel.

"PUPILS! MAKE FOR THE DOOR! WE MUST NOT BECOME TRAPPED HERE!", and took off at a high speed sprint with whoever's Gorget grasped firmly. At some point whoever he was dragging stopped resisting, instead he could feel their fottsteps line up with his, yet he held still to the gorget as if life depended upon it. The two marines smashed the ogry out of the way, stumbling into the room with a clatter of power armor weapons. The servo motors in Azazel's armor whined as he forced himself to stay upright, snarling as he collided with a wall, somewhat denting the paneling. Once stopped, he wheeled about to observe his fellow occupants.

Apparently he had been dragging Bravis, who now breathed heavily next to his teacherm vision slits scanning the many occupants they were now joined by. Of his pupils only he and seemingly Elraz had made it into the door, the other two dead or still in the room... and Elraz was missing an arm. Azazel grumbled and dropped down next to his pupil who sat on the ground, his half arm hanging limply at his side. Using his narthecium he began to rapidly repair damage to his flesh, but had not an extra arm... he'd have to get a new one. His head shot up to observe the other marines now with him... what strange colors.

He did not recognize the taloned claw of the mairne in the flamboyant, purple armor and he could not see the sigil of the marine in black. His own armor, spattered with gore showed clear his heraldry. A Black, taloned fist on a field of blood red. The ancient legionaries would find it most like that of the Imperial fists, but strangely different. Azazel spoke first once more, his voice now calm, but shaking as if it took effort to keep from screaming.

"Wh-at are your allegiances?! Do you serve the corpse God like those fools?!", he addressed the marines.

The pain itself was blinding. Either that, or the semi-inexperienced Calabanite had his eyes closed. It was the latter, and upon that realization, Xepherial's eyes snapped open. He was in agony. He had lost an excessive amount of blood, his armor was shot through the middle, his flesh was burned, and shrapnel had rended his internal organs. Yet his transhuman body simply refused to die. His three lungs drew a painful breath. Constant consciousness tortured him, demanding that he move, pinning him far from the merciful release of death, and he was forced to go on no matter how much he tried to give in to despair. His two hearts thundered in powerful compensation, his blood thickened and solidified in his wounds, and his mind focused to a razor's edge. "No." His body denied him like the voice of an unseen god, and his right hand tightened on the bolter still clutched in his grip. He was made for this. He was built to survive long into this hell on the verge of death, to serve, to slay, and to continue far beyond the capacity of any mortal human body, but no space marine was ever meant to die of old age. Xepherial knew by now that he wasn't going to be leaving this spacehulk alive.

The firefight was still going on around him as Xepherial began to struggle against his own weight. None of the combatants had yet come to finish him off and were presently ignoring him. For that brief moment, seeing as how he wasn't able to die, he gathered his wits and took stock of his position. His left leg refused to respond, and he was severely weakened by his wounds. Chainswords revved, guns blazed, and the deck pounded with the footfalls of some massive ogrin beast. He heard the women scream as they died, a shrill sound that pierced the cacophanous din. A protective instinct surged within him at the sound and he propped himself up on an elbow and raised his bolter fervently to their defense. He knew what side of the war he was on now, and he would spend his last breaths in defense of the Imperium, for all the mercy it would bring him after death. He never fired however, for a large slab of metal suddenly dropped in front of the Sisters and decapitated one of them brutally. Xepherial had no idea where it had fallen from, nor could he have stopped it.

Then Xepherial was inexplicably lifted from the ground. He could do little about it other than to realize it was the ork he had shot before who had him, dropped him, then had him once again, carrying his dense bulk aloft toward a sealed door with jaw-dropping strength.

“Everyone inside!”

The unnamed Emperor's Child still lived, fireing indescriminantly at xeno and human alike. In his eyes, the warrior appeared to be reliving a memory. Xepherial would have tried to stop him, to awaken him and discern between ally and foe, but it was all he could do to keep hold of his own weapon as he was hauled inside by the ork. He grunted in pain as he was unceremoniously dropped again on the other side of the door. The ork witch who had carried him also dropped down, seemingly drained from the effort. Xepherial puzzled as to why the greenskin enemy had done such a thing, and at clear cost to himself. Certainly it couldn't have been an altruistic act, or could it? It was difficult to be certain of anything in this catastrophic future.

An Ogryn entered, as did someone who looked like an unarmored Astartes, but there was no livery of any kind on him. He was badly wounded as well, which was to be expected. Xeph struggled, finding a spot to slump against the strange black wall. The pain was still there, stabbing into the core of his body. "Brother..." He called, just loud enough to be heard. "Brother..." He repeated with some effort, not knowing if the cousin he had just met had heard him. Xepherial reached up slowly and took off his helm. The pressure seals released with a hiss revealing a youngful man's face, and he dropped the helm beside him. His head was bowed, and straight black hair hung over one of his eyes. His already light skin was ashen, something not normal for one of El'Johnson's geneseed, and he breathed with agonal effort. He looked extremely rough. "I'm... not going to make it off this ship, brother. I can't walk. You must leave me behind." Xepherial didn't want to imagine being eaten alive by Tyranid maggots or otherwise and hoped that the implications of what he was saying would be obvious to his fellow warrior... "It has taken me this long, but I understand now. I know what side of the war I belong on." Xepherial winced. "I am a traitor, brother, and I deserve death for what I have done." Xepherial inhaled sharply, preparing himself. "End me."

A few last arrivals burst through the closing door at the last possible moment. The three of them bore red armor with markings that Xepherial had never seen before. One was missing an arm but was quickly attended to by their tall and imposing leader. Xepherial swallowed, granted a momentary peace by the distraction. They were of no legion he could ever recognize, and that didn't sit well with the dying Dark Angel. Quickly, the leader finished patching the arm and stood up to address them. His fendish words sealed it, and Xepherial no longer had any doubts. He knew his Emperor, beloved by all, now decayed upon the golden throne. To refer to him as a mere corpse, or even as a God, was heresy.

Xepherial stared down Azazel with impotent fury. "And forever, will I serve, the Emperor of Mankind." He huffed in several breaths, then, with his failing strength, he lifted a shaky bolter at the Red Corsair.

The sudden entrance of the red-armored marines was surprising. As the door sealed shut, and the last of those to enter seemed to acclimate themselves to the state of the room, the marine the ork had carried in muttered some nonsense about a brother. While the red marine saw to his companion, he spouted off some other gibberish. The pain from his recently-inserted arm made it difficult to translate the many dialects of Gothic being used. Something had been said about a corpse, but beyond that Urgrugg wasn't sure.

Looking over, he saw the marine removing his helmet. When the other spoke about the corpse, it seemed to trigger something. As Urgrugg watched, the tech marine raised his firearm. With how long it took the wounded marine to speak, it was a bit easier to understand him. He had spoken some kind of oath to the humans' Emporer god, and seemed to be aiming the statement at his target. It didn't take a genius to figure out that one marine had insulted the other, and any ork could spot the look of a killer from across a battlefield, let alone across a room.

Urgrugg rolled his neck. Two loud pops issued forth, as he felt his body regaining strength. Unlike traditional psykers, ork weird boys were used to having their power forced upon them by the simple presence of other orks nearby. Though it had been quite a long time since that applied to Urgrugg, what it meant still ultimately held true. When away from the source of their power, be it other orks or the warp itself, weird boys quickly returned to what they were; Namely, orks. In some cases, such as his own, the hard life forced upon them by their strange powers meant that they were not just an ork, but a strong one at that.

Almost gleefully, for he had held himself back until then, Urgrugg released himself. Digging deep, he latched onto the power of his rage, his anger, his lust for wanton destruction as he gave himself over completely to the battle fury that he had so long yearned to embrace. With a swift motion, his hand sprang up to the base of his staff, gripping it tight. Swinging it around, he brought it down in a single, swift motion, slamming the diamond-hard jewel at its tip against the tech-marine's head. Without his helmet on, the force of the blow would easily be enough to send a spiderweb of hairline fractures through his skull, nevermind simply knocking him out as intended. Having landed his blow as the bolter's sights were being lined up, the ork sucked in a breath through his nose, spitting on the ground as he grumbled out, "Git!"

The last of his strength drained, he slumped over, falling to his back. The thud of his frame slamming down would be loud, and it was everything he could do to not pass out himself. "Oi, ugly..." He said to the apothecary, his orkish words nothing but angry gibberish to the ears of any but his clan. "Fix... him..." Letting out a ragged cough, he spat out blood, only now realizing the internal damage 'reattaching' his arm had done to him. "Then me..." he said, his two final statements in broken, but understandable low gothic. With that, he was out, his fortune now in the hands of the great, green gods.

Well, if he thought what had happened to himself was awful... finally drawn to actually pay attention to it by its bleating for his attention, he saw the dark shape for what it was, a fellow 31st Millenium Dark Angel it seemed, but in such a state of disrepair that he could barely talk. And "disrepair" wasn't a bad term for it, either, considering the servo-arms and symbol that marked him as a definite member of the Mechanicus of their shared time, noted as Lucius approached and knelt down beside him. He was already judging whether he might be able to repurpose the armour to fit the plugs in his own Black Carapace- was that Artificer? It seemed reasonable to assume it was- as the man removed his helmet, revealing a surprisingly youthful face, one pale from an unusual amount of lost blood, and traumatised by some recent revelation.

Ah. Of course. He hadn't realised Chaos' machinations yet, hadn't seen that their passage through the fabric of space-time had inexorably corrupted them both, up until this moment. And from the sound of it, hadn't been subjected to the same torment Lucius had. Was that so for every other Dark Angel who had been flung into the warp rift that day as Caliban destroyed itself beneath their feet? Was Lucius himself, dare he suggest it, unique in that regard? And if so, why had he been singled out for such torture so personally?

And only now did another flash of memory return to him. No moment of his final battle was this, though; the fragment he received from whatever held his mind hostage was assuredly a more sociable time, a welcoming into that day's firing rounds of a brother in arms, a Techmarine with a familiar face.

And a name.

When he came to from that, he realised the man on the ground before him had raised his bolter- he still had his weapons, then- aiming it at the red-armoured Marine, splattered with gore and bearing an unfamiliar symbol on his pauldron. Did he recognise it? In a way, it was much like the banner of the Imperial Fists... but far be it for him to care overmuch about whatever Legion he came from, for now he was being targeted by his brother Marine. Lucius felt he should probably stop him. Him. The man called...

'Xephe-'

A loud CRACK rather surprised Lucius, knocking Xepherial to the ground. The impact point had bled heavily before clotting, and the force of the blow had surely... not killed, but probably brought him that many steps closer to death's door. And of course it was an Ork who had delivered the strike, because why on Terra wouldn't it be? That explained the green flash he'd seen earlier, at least.

With an unruly sigh, Lucius got up and, with his sword as a walking stick of sorts, paced unsteadily over to the nearest tube, examining the black substance or organism or whatever was contained in it in little detail, at the same time coming up with the most scathing insult he could think of. Eventually, he began to turn back around, uttering 'Why would you do that, you stupid, thick-headed, Wolfoid creature,' before he realised that the Ork too had fallen unconscious. Of course he had. He didn't know Orks could even fall unconscious, and it annoyed him that now he'd not be able to chew the thing out. 'Why do- why bother? Why do I bother?' he continued, turning back to the tube and resting his forehead against it.

'Why in the WARP! Do I BOTHER?!' he yelled, slamming his fist against the glass as hard as he dared to avoid breaking it, and this was certainly a rare sensation nowadays - legitimate anger and fury, quite unlike his usual malaise, which even now was settling back in, drowning him in tar-like apathy once more, and reminding him that he was in fact injured himself, quite severely in fact, and shouldn't be exerting himself overmuch. Again he turned back to the room, examining who was still upright and sane - Ga'duk, obviously; the newcomer, who he figured he might as well talk to; the other Space Marine, the Emperor's Child, perhaps the only one he could actually discuss matters with at this time; and his own... wait, no, he had curled up in a strop.

'What's your problem?' Lucius asked as he passed the wimp, who was still crying, really? He worshipped things he couldn't grasp, and a little bit of combat had him terrified like this? The hypocritical worm wasn't even injured, bastard that he was.

'I-I-I-I c-can't feel it, m-my l-lord...' the worm whispered.

'Hm?'

'Th-th-the W-w-w-w-... Wuh-wuh... m-m-my p-powers...'

Oh. Ohhh, that might be what that black substance was, then: anti-psychic material, however it had come into being, cutting off the connection to the Warp of any psyker who entered, including the telepath who called himself Lucius' loyal servant. And, if he paid attention, perhaps the cyborg quivering in the corner too, though how that might be he couldn't say. 'Best you don't discuss that with anyone else in the room,' Lucius offered, only to walk off uncaring of the cultist's plight.

And now came the actual objective. The narthecium identified the unfamiliar Space Marine as an Apothecary, though the appearance of the device, and indeed of the man's very armour, was quite clearly different to the latest models that had been available at the time of Caliban's destruction. Better? Perhaps. He'd need to figure that out, but since he'd already been told to fix Xepherial and the Ork... and he'd shown clear hostility toward this "corpse-god"... which was what, exactly? Surely it couldn't refer to the Emperor of Mankind himself... but going by his Dark Angel brother's reaction to the term, there was surely some connection between the two, so maybe... either way, best to be safe on this one.

'Okay, my good man,' Lucius started quietly but bluntly, clapping the armoured man's shoulder with his free hand in a manner that was obviously not overly friendly. 'You've been tasked with fixing up the black-armoured Marine, as well as the Ork. I believe I would like to be your third patient today after them. Only, I need to tell you this now, but if you put so much as one gene in one cell out of place, in myself or my brother-Marine, I will personally tear your skull open and rip out your brain. Sus-an Membrane first.'

Threat delivered, and in a manner that was all but devoid of emotion so as to convey the fullness of his intent if the Apothecary didn't comply, Lucius stepped away, heading to... ugh, he didn't even know who. Ga'duk wasn't a stimulating conversationalist, and his minion was a little bit out of touch to consider lording over right now. Likewise the Tech-priest in the corner and the Apothecary's gore-covered allied... he supposed the last Space Marine in the room, then, the one who had apparently opened and closed the door in the first place. Whatever his name was. He might be interesting to talk to whilst he waited for his treatment, anyway... perhaps he should watch over Xepherial whilst the red-armoured Marine did his job, but he didn't care quite that much. The threat could be delivered on whenever he felt it appropriate, at any rate.

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

With a sudden realization Zuriel found himself looking into the eyes of a marine out of armour. He knew it was a marine because of its size and his posture.
What was more important was that his hiding place had been found. He sat up, brushed his robe slightly splashing some filthy oil on the floor.
As he moved into the room he cocked his head and watched the downed people. The entire situation was a mess, loyalist marines, chaos marines, an ork and an ogryn.
The entire thing seemed like some sort of holo-film made in some more dubious place in the universe, or the topic of some crude joke. Except for the fact it was all too real.

He was holding his fingertips to each other in front of him, it helped him reduce stress. Or more like focus his mind, for it was in dire need of focus.
The book had not been kind to his cohesiveness.

He looked around him, the room and its machines not really making sense to him. Curse this psychic shield, he could not tap into the warp for knowledge. Now he craved it, needed it.
Suppose it was well played master of machinations, well played.

Zuriel reached the ork and briefly noted the scene.
-"You will have to put your past rivalries behind you astartes, fallen angels, heretics, mutants, abhumans." As he spoke he looked at different people of those present. Firstly the emperors child, then the techmarine and the apothecary, then the crying sod a bit longer and finally the ogryn.
He began to look over the wound in the orks arm.
-"If you wonder why i am tending to the wounds of a filthy xeno it is none of your business. However we are in this together and i assume you recognize the call. The reason why i assume you are all here. It can't be a coincidence." Zuriel spoke with seriousness, before sitting down and began to pull forth a rivet gun.

As he began to work he took some random shrapnel and used as rivet backings and began to crudely rivet Urgrugg together with filthy black smudges all over. He began to mutter and speak to himself as he worked.
-"Orkoid, xeno specimen of large size, probably nob. Weirdboy sub-variant, not overly wealthy, probable snakebite seeing the lack of clan markings.... orkoid physiology is tougher than that of humans, contrary to popular propaganda the larger orkoid leader caste often show similar resilience as the astartes themselves... orks are weak and lack proper muscle density, just shoot them in the head and they will topple over dead.... cybork, i could make it into a cybork... i should probably put it out of its misery."
With that Zuriel dragged out his hellpistol and put it to the temple of the ork... but hesitated.
He put the gun down seemingly confused.

-"No, we need its prowess. It's power." He went on, and gazed into the mysterious gem on Urgrugg's staff, which Zuriel promply picked up and began to study closely. Now muttering in some language none other understood, or it was just random syllables jumbled together, it was difficult to tell apart.
The arm was roughly riveted together and covered in unnaturally filthy oil which seeped into its partly open wounds. But Zuriel didn't care.

Ga'duk became increasingly uncomfortable in this room. It wasn’t that he was cut off from the warp, as he had no powers to speak of, but words he knew like "Heretic" and "Traitor". He heard "Abhuman" which he knew where words thrown at Ogryns as an insult. Exactly why it was an insult he couldn’t say for sure, but it was the tone and context in which it was often used. Those saying the words nearly always spat them in disgust after Ga’duk had done or said something wrong. It was odd however this Techpriest, or whatever he was, said the words very matter of fact. He was still sure it was insulting, so he replied in kind the way he had heard other troopers refer to the mechanicus priests. “Empoor dahh-mned Gah.. uh.. Gear ‘eads” he grumbled quietly, audible only to those actually trying to pay attention.

It wasn’t much of an insult, which was fine. He began to notice Thorn largely ignoring him, it was pretty normal. Commanding officers rarely tried to engage with him any more than they absolutely had to. For some reason he was actually annoyed by it. He had saved Thorn’s life at least… well, definitely once… probably once. While he puzzled if he had saved thorn at all he tried to sit against the wall, then noticing a blossom of pain in his side. Where the, now, one armed Marine had hit him with a chain sword, blood was seeping from the wound slowly. It was a deep wound but still not deep enough to strike bone or his organs. He touched his free hand to the gash in his ruined armor trying to remember the medical briefing that was given to his unit years ago. He was sure they mentioned gaping wounds.

After a few seconds pondering he gave up, frustrated, and dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. He held his side instinctually trying to reduce the pain and staunch the bleeding. It was a slow trickle through his fingers even out of a fresh wound but a small puddle of blood accumulated under Ga’duk quickly. Even If left alone the wound would probably not kill the Ogryn, it would slow him down for quite a while but he would live. Assuming he did not die of infection, or taken advantage of by the Chaotic forces, or ousted as a loyalist. The dangers themselves where unknown to Ga’duk but he knew it would be fine because the Emperor protects after all.

After finally easing down into a sitting position against the wall he began saying a silent prayer to the Emperor. He was not trying to draw any attention to it or antagonize the various chaos forces he simply lowered his head and stared at the black floor while moving his mouth in a prayer to the Emperor, one of the simplest ones obviously. While he mouthed the prayer the Ogryn felt much better and the bleeding stopped soon after he lowered his head. While its entirely possible that the wound stopped on its own, he was convinced that his prayer must have helped somehow even in a null zone.

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Even as others feel apart around him, things happening – Greenskins attacking Fallen, Corsairs entering the scene, the sounds of battle still able to be heard beyond the confines of the chamber – Vedius did not even hear the words of Zuriel and instead had receded back into his own mind once more.

”Do not let them reach the chamber, Brothers!” Called out Centurion Aulus of the Emperor's Children, raising his bolter to unleash hell against the pursuing and twisted forms of what had once been Word Bearers, but now appeared to have damned themselves by their actions, “the cargo must reach its destination.”

Vedius knew that they were all made traitors, knew that the legion and his Primarch had turned from the light of the Emperor, but ever since the transmission they had sough to finish their last mission if it killed them in the process. They had been in the middle of doing so when the warship of the Seventeenth Legion had attacked, pods fired over and burrowing into the hull of the Aquila like so many ticks, spewing forth crimson-armoured legionnaires. Their assault had been ferocious and by surprise, they had been waiting for them! Nevertheless, the Children had fallen back in good order and now made their way to the chamber where the prizes were held.

Centurion Aulus was making his way back to his second-in-command when he was hit, bolter fire cracking his ceramite and puncturing deep into him, a gargled warning leaving his and an arm flung in the direction of the enemy as he fell; those same attackers now saw the former Palatine Blade, yelling to one another as they opened fire, several bolts deflected by his armour while a couple hit him where it hurt.

As he fell onto his back, crawling over to a wall and placing his back against it, he could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into the blackness of death – and it was at this point that his Sus-an Membrane began to become active, though he did not know it at the time – everything grew darker still and, eventually, he simply knew no more.

When the counter-attack came and the battle continued to rage around him, he was ignored by friend and foe alike, a stroke of luck perhaps...or something woven more by fate.

A finger had been idling over his armour, and found one of the holes from so long ago...

It was only when Lucius began to assault one of the tubes in his rage that Vedius even took notice, snapping back to reality, and letting out an inward sigh when the black armoured 'angel' - clearly having to restrain himself – figured out he had no idea what to do with himself and went walkabouts again. The glass he had struck was not broken, however, and that was good.

“What is the current year?” Came the voice of the Emperor's Child after a moment of contemplation, the Legionnaire realising he not even know the date – the chronometer within his helmet having ceased to work some time ago, “please do not attack the containment tubes either, it would be unfortunate if they broke.”

---

“The Mon'Keigh have entered the chamber, milady,” came the voice of Farseer Gilsadra, “and I have lost contact with my possession. I believe she now resides within the stomach of a most ferocious alien beast.”

Celalyth tapped the arms of her chair for a couple of moments, knowing exactly where they had gone and why, her eyes narrowing into slits as she pondered what to do next. The answer, when it came was simple, she would wait – there was no other way for the Mon'Keigh to get off of the hulk except by them, and when they did so would be the chance to reclaim what was their own.

“Hold our fleet here, but keep our sensors open, a transmission was sent from that Mon'Keigh station, and where there are a few there are most certainly more.”

Well, as long as he had nothing else to do, Lucius supposed he ought to respond to the only conscious entity in the room who it made sense to talk to. O, the mild relief of meeting a fellow Marine, at long last... Xepherial would count for that purpose, and the red-armoured being, but the former was out cold, and the latter was... mad. Too far gone- to Chaos?- to consider a conversational partner, much less a reliable ally, though those were few and far between anyway. (And on that note, would he consider Ga'duk an ally? If he bled out from that wound on his side, definitely not, but he appeared to be holding his blood in for now, so whatever worked for the moronic giant.)

Then again, he was wounded, and not in a particularly friendly mood right now... 'And pray tell, Child of the Emperor,' Lucius muttered in the man's general direction, 'who are you to tell me what is and is not good or bad for me?' A subtle request, albeit somewhat impolitely framed, for an actual designation. He ought to at least know who had let them into this strange room... and how he knew the keycode to get in. 'How would you know what this room is for, or what resides within these tubes? And on that note, since you seem to be familiar with the substance, what is it? What does it do, why is it here? Moreover...' Lucius looked around the place, staring into the darkness as he came to a possible... realisation? Or just a false alarm? Either way...

'Did you lock us into a dead end?' he asked, turning back to the purple-armoured man. 'Because I'll have you know, that makes our position no better than before, despite the layer of armour between us and the xenos.'

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The only response that Lucius received from the Emperor's Child was a robotised chuckle via his mouth-grill coupled with a singular finger bought up to where his lips may well have been. They were all stood here in pretty much pitch black, and the questions of the incognito Astartes were as valid as any other, so he intended to answer them all in one swift go...the sooner they got out of here the better.

“Observe,” he half-spoke and half-commanded, moving quickly to an alcove and away from the sight of the others for just a moment, followed by a sharp hissing sound and a sturdy hum that spread quickly, like the awakening of a thousand insects but with a distinct note of technology rather than biology.

All around them the chamber came to life - lumostrip lights almost blinding in there intensity flashing into activation mode, the containers taking on less of an eerie quality as they were lit from all angles, and the true extent of the room they had so hurriedly made their way into becoming rather apparent as Vedius reappeared and gestured about him with one large hand.

What he was gesturing to was a square chamber that looked more like an apothecaries lab, a huge space with a high ceiling, and walls and a mesh floor of glistening metal. All around was technology, all of it pristine and free of rust or even dust particles, 'sterile' would have been the perfect word for it, that came straight from the era of the Great Crusade and seemed to be working just as well as it would some ten-thousand years in the past. All of this would no doubt titillate members of the modern Mechanicus, indeed any connoisseur of near-forgotten tech.

At the farthest end of the chamber, directly opposite the door, was a section that could only be correctly described as a 'command deck' – a huge viewing screen present in front of flashing navigation and sensor consoles and a command throne, flanked on either side by windows of stained glass depicting the Emperor and Fulgrim together, the entire area on standby.

Going down the left-hand side of the room were multiple tables, the size of an Astartes but easily capable of holding down a normal human, tables and the trays of instruments beside them showing that this space was more than just a lab, it was also a torture chamber and morgue for the deceased.

On the right-hand side was everything that one may need for their survival, such as spare parts of power armour and inactive weapons placed carefully on racks, auspexes and Heresy-era jump packs, as well as rations for any human members of the crew that may have been important enough to make their way here.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, were the containers themselves; as tall as any unaugmented human and still glowing with a life all there own. If one were to take a closer look, a much closer look, then they may be able to pick out the shapes of seemingly amber stones, each one throbbing with a life of its own, hundreds of them, restrained by an anti-psychic liquid created by a mad Apothecary of the Emperor's Children for this singular purpose.

“I am Decurion Vedius of the Emperor's Children, Palatine Blade and apparently an Astartes out of time,” there came another chuckle as he spoke “welcome everyone to the Falcon, the smaller cousin of the Aquila – that is the vessel upon which we were all nearly massacred – and I hope our means of escaping from this Hell.”

With a hiss of latch-release and a grunt as he pulled the crested helmet from his head, the handsome features of a son of Fulgrim were revealed, pale skinned and blue eyed, his hair as white as that of his Primarch and his mouth set in a grim line across his face.

“Those,” he said, pointing to sigils clearly burnt into the metal of the walls around them, “are markings embedded there to make all psychic abilities within this room null and void.” Slowly he moved his finger to point at one of the tubes, “when our Primarch was betrayed by Eldrad Ulthran of Ulthwé, I and my comrades were despatched to take vengeance upon the aliens, and here is the result – several hundred of their so-called 'spirit stones', each containing the soul of an Eldar within them. They are articles of great value, psychically charged, and the Word Bearers wanted them for their own.”

Until now he had been looking primarily at the tubes or the floor, now he lifted his head and stared directly at Lucius, his fingers twitching slightly as his side as he took in the entire group of them – the whole sordid little band.

“Now, if I might ask, who are you? Who are you all?”

Probably better not to kill them, he needed bodies to fly this craft – if they even could – and there would surely be time for such things later.

“Can any of you pilot a ship?”

As Urgrugg slowly came to, he felt strange, though he wasn't sure why. At first, he thought it might be the pain in his shoulder, but no, he'd dealt with pain before, and worse at that. No, it was something else. Gripping his hands, he felt around for his staff. Perhaps that was it, the familiar weight of it was missing from his hand. Opening his eyes, he looked around, slowly recalling what events had transpired that he found his way here. Looking around, he saw he was facing the ceiling, which meant he was on his back. That may have been it, as he generally did not sleep lying down.

No, none of that was right. It was something that was missing, but not his staff. Something even more personal. The warp, that was it. He could not feel the presence of it, the power of it connected to him. Looking about, more hurried this time, his eyes caught on the first familiar thing in the room. Reaching out, he gripped his staff at its base. After grabbing it, he realized something was holding it. Connecting the feet of said something to their owner, the memory of his 'ally' came back to him, and the sudden urge to murder the fool that tried to steal from him was turned to a low simmer of annoyance.

First, he pushed down on the staff, using it to pull himself to a sitting position. In the next breath, he yanked it away, using far more strength that was necessary to pull it from the weaker mech wright's hands. Once he had it under his control once more, his other senses took hold, and he realized someone was talking. Though he'd missed most of what was said, he did catch most of the last of it. It took some time for his mind to translate the gothic to his own language, but it inevitably did.

Rolling his shoulders, it was at that point he realized someone had seen to his arm. Though the majority of the damage, the destruction caused by the massive discharge of warp energy through it, would take more time to heal, it had been successfully reattached, and he was even able to move the arm. It had less strength than a goblin, so it was all but useless, but it could still move which at that point was good enough for him.

"That why they came? For the stones?" His question was in reference to the mention of Eldar. He'd heard the word before, and had assumed it was the term for the strange sky elves he'd encountered in the past. "We leave, have to go fast. This place, not hidden to their eyes. Like dirt on glass during day, this place is a hole in the warp that should not be. When we move, their sight will be drawn to us."

"I am Urgrugg Darkcrackah. I stood shaman of my clan for over one thousand moons. If you are wise, heed my words. What you stole holds great value. They will destroy us to reclaim it." With that, he began a prayer. Spoken in the tongue of his homeworld, it was centuries old, and invoked the great green gods by name.

His hands held before him, pressed tight together, knuckle to knuckle, he began. "Oi, Gork 'n Mork! If we'z gotz ta run, paintz uz red, so we goez fastest. If we'ze spoze ta fight, make uz the greenest, 'cauze greenz da best! Waaagh!!!" He shouted the entire thing, the final word loud enough it would be no surprise if he could be heard through the door. Holding to tradition, he ended the prayer by smashing his pressed-together hands against his forehead, breaking them apart. In the process, he drew blood from his own brow, to show the gods which option he would prefer.

Noticing something yanking on the staff Zuriel was investigating he had barely looked back to see what it was before the massively larger and stronger ork yanked the staff out of his hand. Zuriel had no chance holding it against the creature's massive strength. Even when it was down to only one good arm.
He was just happy the beast didn't kill him for it.

As Urgrugg began to talk Zuriel just now began to look around in his environment. If he would have wanted he could have used his shoulder lumo light to light up the room, or his eyes which included a simple low-light vision sense which could be switched on.
He had been far to distressed to bother with his surroundings. Perhaps it was a sort of human response? Perhaps he was just absent minded?

Urgrugg was now shouting and finished it off with smashing himself in the face with his fists. Zuriel just shook his head. Typical orkoids.

-"I am Zuriel Ganymene... Quillos." Before pronouncing his last name he jerked with his head, reminding of the movement of a bird or an insect.
-"Mech Wright of the late vessel Justifiable. I am proficient in shuttle operations, but i assume this is no mere shuttle?" Zuriel spoke while studying the machinery around him. Leaving black oily stain droplets all over the floor where he walked.

Fascinating artifacts, ancient machinery, xenos soul stones. They would be angry, he was just surprised the ork knew that. As he gazed upon a stone he was cast out of his trance as a noise alerted him.

New friends, old friends and new foes

Had the ork not knocked the black armored marine who had leveled a bolt gun at Azazel the Apothecary may very well have killed the badly mauled marine. But, the ork had knocked out the marine... and now he found a replacement for his pupils missing arm... and a new test subject. He largely ignored the Orks words, seeing as he knew enough about Ork Physiology that it would be up and about in less than an hour without any intervention from him. Before he could get to his new subject however, eye lenses glenting with excitement the other... marine though without any of his equipment placed a hand on his shoulder... and threatened him?

The Dark Apothecary growled and stood, almost shaking with rage as he stared down the armor-less marine, chain-sword in one hand still revving quietly, "What?! You are threatening me?! Injured, without armor or weaponry and alone?! I should tear off your skin and watch as you bleed to death! I'll rip our your tendons one by one and make sure you're awake for every second! Who are you to threaten me?! I could do whatever I wanted to this Emperor following bastard! I'm surprised those zealots outside even opened fire on him!
I can do whatever I want to with this helpess bastard! You-", he was cut off by the... Emperor's Children? He didn't look like one of them... wait...

The Red Corsair bent down to look at the Black Armored marine, finding the symbol of the Dark angels. He began to laugh. Only laughing harder as the same marine asked for the current year. He drew up and looked him dead in the eyes, "The Year is 998 M.41,
its been ten thousand years since you fossils were in real space hasn't it?! Incredible... I bet you're all legionnaires! Rich, traitors too by the looks of it. Emperors children... Dark Angel... whatever you are. Incredible. Do you even know how the Heresy ended?", he laughed, but it quickly stopped as the lights were turned on. He went deathly silent. He walked about, his pupil Bravis began following him closely, seeming lost as he looked about. Azazel inspected the myriad Apothecarium equipment... enthralled that he may once more have a laboratory...

...humm. Eldar soul stones, eh? An actually interesting tidbit of information. He supposed, then, that it was only polite to reply to Vedius in kind, whilst tactfully ignoring the red-armoured Marine's maniacal gibbering in his direction.

'I am Thorn,' Lucius uttered. Short, simple, direct, and a flat lie as usual. If they recognised the similarities between Lucius's appearance and Xepherial's, he wouldn't stop them naming him as a Dark Angel, but nor would he bother enlightening them if they were too dense to figure it out themselves. Realistically, that was all he'd intended to say, but two or three points continued to draw his interest:

Firstly, the ship needed a pilot. Naturally, this actually meant that it needed an entire staff's worth of crewmembers, thus making it impossible to reasonably fly, especially in its current state of "lodged somewhere inside a giant mass of other ships", unless Xepherial and, what did he call himself, Zuriel Ganymede violent physical twitch Quillios could between them finagle their way into controlling the entire device, a frankly absurd task given the scale of the problem. He'd let Vedius figure that one out for himself, if nobody else told him.

Secondly, the Ork was awake again, one Urgrugg Darkcracker... "Darkcrackah", rather... and doing something that seemed to be some sort of prayer, ended by smashing its fists against its head, blood dripping from the resulting wound. Whatever idiocies made it happy, regardless of the falsity of whatever deities it worshipped. There were the Chaos Gods, if they were Gods after all, and everything else that claimed divinity paled in comparison; it was that simple.

And thirdly... well, the problem now lay with the red Marine. He was eerily astute in his observations about how long they - Lucius in particular, but presumably the other two as well - had been unaware of current events. He, for one, had at least gathered that the Emperor of Mankind was now worshipped as a deity of some sort, a false belief in and of itself, but had yet to hear anything about how the Heresy ended... unless... what had it been that Suzy or whatever her name was had said before plunging part of that planet into the Warp? Something to do with a... corpse-god? He'd basically glossed over the terminology at the time, but if that, somehow, impossibly, referred to the Emperor himself...

'By all means, Apothecary of the House of Blood, or whatever your name and Chapter is,' Lucius murmured, hiding his disbelief with his usual mask of carelessness, 'do tell us how it ended, if you think we're so unaware.' He'd make his judgement if and when he had as much information as he could gather.

Ga'duk watched the gathering, medical attention and discussions. He was largely being ignored, which was fine. Officers rarely asked for his opinion. but the conversations where filled with anger and heresy. It was unnerving the Ogryn, but he tried to ignore it by staring at the Eldar "magic rocks". He wanted one but was sure that he would be reprimanded if he tried to retrieve one. So he tried to ignore the magic rocks too, so he payed attention to the conversations.

Ga'duk was becoming very wary of those around him, or at least the marines around him. Their casual talk about THE heresy, not just regular heresy but THE heresy that everyone knows. Even Thorn who didnt seem to know anything about it, it was beginning to unnerve the ogryn. As the conversation about the Emperor continued in such a disrespectful way he was growing visibly agitated. He was sure the few red clad marines where heretics and that he should pummel to death in haste, and his suspicion was growing that maybe the other marines where aligned to chaos as well. This did not bode well, if he had any allies he would engage the red marines and figure it out from there. He didn't have any sure allies, and he was hurt so attacking was a suicide mission. The Ork amused him however, his prayer actually seemed logical and familiar. Several Ogryns aboard his old ship had practices very similar to his prayer, although they where invoking the Emperor rather than Gork or Mork.

Ga'duk decided to interject with his own understanding of THE heresy, to educate those who where ignorant of the story. "Da trah-tors attacked da holy tarrah, tinking dey could kill da empoor" he said with note of superiority, as if trying to kill the Emperor was a stupid thing to do. "Dey brought all da chaos and tried to kill da empoor and all of tarrah, but! dey couldn't cos da Empoor per-tects." The ogryn's eyes lingered on the red clad marines while he said it, trying to be at least a little insulting. "But Da really bad one, uh... Horse, went and hurt da Empoor but is ok coz da Empoor is da Empoor and is im- uh.. immotal. an he sits on da Thone per-tectin da Imperum." He stopped talking as if that was the full and nuanced story and, judging by his stance, daring the Chaos marines to challenge the accuracy of his story.

Slowly turning his head towards the ogryn, Zuriel could barely believe his ears.
An ogryn was schooling a chaos space marine about the horus heresy. While calling the warmaster horse nonetheless.

This was far to fascinating to ignore, Zuriel also took note of remembering horse for the future. That was a proper useful insult.
He then proceeded to take cover.
Bolt rounds were bound to start flying any second after that one.

Xepherial's world ended. It simply went black, and he was gone, not even conscious enough to realize he was dead. At least, he would have thought he was dead, had he thought at all. The pain was ever present through all the timeless darkness, and it was the first thing he became aware of long before he could register it for what it was. For now, it was a dull stabbing ache that colored everything else, blurring his perceptions. A light turned on in the room around him, sending a red glow across his closed eyelids. That wouldn't register yet, but voices began to breach the void that surrounded him.

"...da empoor."

Xepherial cogitated a word. His attention focused on it like a servitor forced to follow a predetermined protocol regardless of whatever damage it had received. He'd recognize that word, that name, no matter how badly spoken, no matter the tongue, and no matter whether he was live or dead upon hearing it. It stirred him.

The soft hiss of a strained breath left his lips, making just enough sound to draw attention to his existence on the floor once again. He was alive, still, although his consciousness was on the fritz. Dreams interceded into his flickering grasp on reality. He tried to hold onto them, to stay asleep and ignore the constant hum of agony in the background of his mind. If he could just sleep... he could sleep passed his hearts finally stopping and perhaps be at peace, free of the confines of the biological corpus, at last able to become one with... Perhaps...

But as before, such sleep eluded him, mocking him with jabs of pain to match every heartbeat. Xepherial reached for his head with a groan. His eyes opened for the first time and the image he beheld was of the same adversary they had last closed upon. Getting hit in the head had clearly impaired him, as it took a moment to register what he was seeing. "Dark apothecary." He spoke the first description that came to his mind, naming Azazel with it. Thorn, Vedius, the ork... none of anyone close to him seemed to be noticed as Xepherial suddenly realized his vulnerability. His bolter had been removed from reach, and he had completely failed to die, leaving him here, in the open palms of his worst nightmare.

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The Emperor's Child shook his head even as he walked toward the 'bridge' area of the smaller vessel, created specifically as a self-contained exploratory craft (the pre-Heresy brains really did think of everything...), ignoring the clearly confused Ogryn but not allowing his slightly garbled words to leave his mind; the Emperor had won, but not before Horus betrayed him in the first instance? Now he sat on...a throne? It appeared he wasn't dead, but Vedius saw no real evidence that he were among them either – those warrior women were one clear example of that. The other more glaring one was Azazel and his distinctly chaotic appearance and attitude, and what had he said about them all being traitors?!

What had he gotten himself into? What had he gotten this poor vessel into? Would he need to dispatch all those present here before he could consider himself safe?

Such thoughts were forcefully pushed aside as he placed himself into the commanders throne, built more for a human frame than his own genetically altered mass, creaking beneath him as he tapped commands into a number of glowing panels to his left, right and centre. He had never been trained to fly a vessel, nothing larger than a Thunderhawk at least, but they had to get out of here and into wider space...after that they could either kill one another or decide what to do.

“Will you all be silent!” He snapped at them, not even glancing round, his voice carrying quite clearly nevertheless, “whatever year this is...no matter if what the Ogryn says is true...I am trying to free us here.”

There had to be some form of auto-pilot, as no-one here appeared capable or in their right mind to contemplate flying anything at this point. No...there had to be...maybe it was this one!

It was not that one, he discovered after tapping in half-forgotten rune code, but the entire structure about them did begin to shake. A promising start. Further bits and pieces bought life to the thrusters and some kind of forward momentum, although no direction as of yet, minutes turning into half-an-hour and they were finally beginning to float away from the main hulk – or they could have seen that they were, had anyone been able to see from the outside.

“We're moving,” huffed the Palatine Blade with a thin smile, “we're moving!” He yelled over his shoulder, not certain whether his compatriots would be thankful for such news or not; he decided to leave out that he had no control as to where they were going.

Indeed they were going, the smaller craft firing out into the void of space and heading on a trajectory that would take them directly past Outpost 3-12/19. Not only that, but vessels had began to move toward them from somewhere on the fringes of the scanners, others appearing on the other side of the Outpost.

---

“My liege, the Hawk Lords have arrived!”

The elation in the voice of McNespey was palpable, his wobbling jowls continuing to do so even once his mouth had ceased to move, and Commodore Harker had to grit his teeth in order to stop himself cutting off the general sense of celebration that had spread over the bridge at the news.

There were several smaller craft and a strike cruiser, not the sort of response that Harker had been waiting for, but it would have to do...

“Tell those Imperial vessels present to move aside them, and regale them of the situation.”

“Aye si-,” McNespey stopped and peered for a moment at the long-range scanners, rubbing the screen as if to remove a speck of dirt, then looking back to his commanding officer, “there's something else moving toward us, something smaller than an escort-class vessel, sir. It appears to be an Emperor's Child exploration craft.”

Harker could not believe his ears, his nose emitting a high-pitched nasal wheeze, but any orders were cut off before he could give them.

“There are other ships...ghost-blips on the scanner...thin ships of xenos origin.”

“Eldar?” Grunted the slender Commodore, like a parent deriding a hated and handicapped child, “my God-Emperor, is there no-one who has not arrived to pester me?!”

“Your orders, lord?”

“Yes...yes!” Waved away the elderly soldier, “attack the Eldar.”

“Lord?”

“You heard me! Send their last known location to the Astartes and request that they assist us against these raiders. Request mind you, the Emperor's Angels do not like being ordered around by mere mortals.”

“As you wish, lord,” confirmed the blubbery Liaison-officer, “His will be done.”