The Path of Thorns

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Argyos was set for defense against a large scale foe; a fleet and invasion force. The Governor had a number of Imperial Army veterans in his planetary defense forces, as well as retired officers to run it, which made it a strong organization. Nonetheless, Argyos was something of a retirement home, a place of rolling plains and gentle forests to hunt in, an ideal place to set up fiefdoms over the natives.

It was also a place that sided with the Warmaster. As the heresy spread, the men in charge changed their loyalties over and began to become enmeshed in cult behavior. The governor threw lavish parties that became more gluttonous and more wanton in turn, and it moved down into the ranks of the militia, who oversaw the labors of the natives. The world had hidden archaeotech buried beneath its crust at certain sites and these, along with the supply of lumber and other raw materials, made it a strategically useful, though not vital, world to the holder of its allegiance.

The natives did not realize that the world had fallen to Warmaster Horus. No one really noticed that the world had done so in the wider conflagration of the Heresy.

But this world was one the Trader originally discovered and led the forces for. He had connections here and bore some responsibility. These were his brothers in arms that settled the world while he stayed in the void, helping to spread the Imperial Truth. The fall of these men to betrayal was stinging to the man, but he continued to put the planet on his trade route, delivering ever-increasing quantities of off-world delicacies and drugs.

It wasn't as simple as gate crashing a party of Militia command-level officers; Chateau Thorn, the site of one of many week-long parties for the conquerors of Argyos, was remote in the countryside from Argyos Port, but had patrols of guards and light vehicles. There was a reaction force as well, of well-armed troops mounted on a squadron of four rhino APC's.

The goal wasn't even to punish these traitors. It was to acquire those Rhinos. The week was going to be spent celebrating the conquest of the planet, with a huge parade of military vehicles and might on the very day, to show the natives the might of their new conquerors. But if some traitor leadership were to go missing, it would throw the enemy defenses in disarray too.

And so small supply craft flew in with the Rogue Trader's promised deliveries of equipment, as well as something else.

To say that Argyos was idyllic was an understatement. There were few obvious signs of war like there had been on Istvan III. No bombed out buildings, no ominous fleets in orbit, the trees and the ground were not set ablaze from the devastation of warheads. As he observed the dense forests and green hills that rose and fell like waves in the distance, Lyras almost considered it a shame to be bringing war to this part of the planet. The thought was quickly wiped from his mind when he reminded himself that the occupants of the port in which they were about to land, and indeed of the entire planet, were traitors to the Imperium. It was unlikely to find the men he had sworn to hunt to extinction, the turncoats of his former legion, but those who had sided with Horus and chosen to turn against the Emperor were no less guilty of treason and would be shown little mercy. However, his goal, and the goals of the other Astartes around him, was not to exterminate the population, but to neutralise the planetary governor during one of his sordid celebrations. The civilians he would spare, if they stayed out of the way, but the governor and his personal guard, the men and women who had raised weapons against Imperial forces, and therefore against the Emperor himself, were to feel his judgement, and the wrath of a dozen or more marines like him.

While there was no sign of battle damage among the buildings, there were signs that the planetary forces were prepared for war. Reports of a huge military parade stuck in Lyras' mind, the thought of the sheer numbers of traitors amassed in one place made him both wroth and gleeful. The port that they would be landing in, delivered by the Rogue Trader, was heavily fortified, but was not expecting enemy forces in the Trader's ship. They were able to pass the surface-to-air batteries and the patrolling aerial forces, at least one valkyrie and likely more, ignored them as they made their approach to land. There was a sizeable garrison, possibly two platoons worth, of Planetary Defence Force militia guarding the port itself, likely with a small, possibly squad sized, more professional force in supervision. Lyras was aware that former Solar Auxilia forces were present on the planet, but, in discussion with the other Astartes, surmised that the majority of them would be employed as close bodyguards to the governor and would not be the main opposition for a while, at least until they made it past the port. Along with the garrison, heavy weapons batteries were mounted on the rooftops of the buildings, lascannons and heavy bolters, supplemented with stubbers and other crewed guns. They were all pointing upwards, employed to protect the port from landing forces, but the Astartes had already landed.

The Astartes gathered in the craft had agreed that the first priority was to secure the port with brutal efficiency and speed. It was crucial that the garrison was neutralised and any electronic or physical means of alerting a larger force made impossible. To the individual Astartes that meant killing every man and woman present and destroying the communication systems in the port, whether with electronic pulse weapons or by physically smashing the port's dedicated power generators housed in a large building set to the side of the side of the landing pads. After that it was a case of securing armoured transport to deliver them into the heart of the governor's retreat in the countryside away from the port.

Lyras had made suggestions as to how the governor should be eliminated. They had an array of variously trained and experienced Astartes among them. He and his former Emperor's Children brothers were trained to target and engage the enemy's champions and strongest forces. It was something Lyras excelled in, particularly if he could close into close combat. However, his men were small in number, and he made recommendations to the commanders of the other squads. The Chateau was heavily defended. Not in the same way that an Astartes legion would defend a stronghold, but it contained armoured vehicles, trained soldiers and numerous defences. To prevent the governors' escape would require more than simply driving an APC through the wall of his residence if he was able to escape by air. Once the port was secure they would be able to manoeuvre with impunity, and part of those manoeuvres would be to secure a perimeter around the Chateau, as well as a force to break down the gates and engage the forces from the inside. He couldn't order the commanders into any particular role, but he recommended that the World Eaters be among those who go through the gates once the APCs were secure, knowing that their penchant for bloody butchery would be ideally suited to the close confines of the Chateau's secure walls. His Emperor's Children would be accompanying them. He also recommended that the Raven Guard, and a few others, secure a perimeter around the Chateau and eliminate the patrols. There had been reports of foot patrols and vehicles around the Chateau which could envelop them if not dealt with. While not privy to their methods, he was aware of the Alpha Legion's ability to infiltrate and to subdue with a greater measure of stealth than more overt legions and suggested that the commander of those Astartes find some way into the compound while the main attack took place.

However, all that would have to wait. The fortified port would need to be secured before they could progress. Platoons of men needed to be neutralised, communications needed to be severed, aerial patrols needed to be grounded, and a dozen other things needed to be accomplished by the individual Astartes squads.

"Once we have disembarked, the priority is to secure the port and to disable their communications before they can bring a greater force to bear," said Lyras over a commbead to the other squads, reminding them of what they had already discussed before the landing began. "Strike hard. For the Emperor."

Lyras and his men, four in total, stood at the rear of one of the crafts with their weapons drawn. A few moments after the Traders' crafts had all landed, each burden with squads of marines, the loading ramps began to lower. The garrison had not been expecting an attack from the inside, and their forces had their eyes on the skies, scanning for ships. Lyras, sword drawn, lunged forwards as the ramp dropped onto the metal landing pad and thundered towards the nearest armed man. A spray of blood coated the ground around him as he cut through a soldier armed with an autogun slung over his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and turned, fury in his eyes, to the next man, drawing his bolt pistol and loosing single rounds as he trudged thunderously towards them. Alypius, the surviving veteran sergeant of his company, belched a cloud of searing promethium over a group of men sat idly around an unloaded heavy stubber, surrounded by sand bags that offered no protection against the burning fuel. The raid had begun, and Lyras was confident that his loyal brother Astartes, be they of other legions, would be falling upon the garrison with unreserved wrath.

---

They landed well outside of the area of Chateau Thorn and infiltrated in on foot, using cover and concealment in the darkness. It was not foolproof and power armor was not the best method of stealth, but with the power settings turned down suitably low, they made considerably less noise than usual. They'd coated everything with inorganic weapons lubricant, to help muffle the sound of their movement. They trod lightly, though to look on the full bulky height of an Astartes was to think that there was no possibility of quiet movement.

Through tree and brush, they pushed in, one group among others tasked with specific orders in this operation. While the others were getting ready to land directly on the target, they had a different sort of work ahead.

The Legions Astartes were lavishly equipped with specialist equipment for a number of different scenarios, including stealth operations. In this situation, a master armorer could convert Phobos or Umbra or Tigrus-pattern boltguns with enhanced targeters, longer barrels, suppressors and special munitions to make the weapon fire silently.

But they didn't have this luxury on Argyos. But the Astartes came naturally equipped with silent and deadly weaponry suitable to the elimination of a target in stealth. A power-armored fist was more than enough force to split a man's head open through a helmet. A Legion-issue combat knife was what a normal human would call a sword, with a micro-honed edge that did not dull and the strength of its user providing more than enough force to get past conventional forms of armor.

Prodigal Son and the others used these as they silenced the first roving patrol on the perimeter. The Astartes were taller than their opponents, and were ponderous to look upon, but were hardened veterans of the Great Crusade that knew how to move tactically. The militia were well-equipped, though not of Solar Auxilia quality, but green. They didn't patrol well. They tried to hurry through it, rather than look with intent. There were a few useful items, notably grenades, in their kit. The men lacked the symbols of the dark gods that so many traitors had fallen into the worship of, but that did not absolve them. They had other patrols to silence, as well as an ambush to lay, in the off chance anyone came down the main road, with the intent to escape...

He lay immobile under the felled branches of several deciduous trees, waiting for the sun to set. It was taking too long. Kurak was getting bored of the seemingly endless waiting, and knew his two men lying quietly next to him shared his sentiment as they had been there for no less than three hours. He decided to risk a slight incline of his head, looking along the natural trench to the 19 marines who had decided to set up there till the time to advance had come. Night fall could not come too soon.

They were a sorry sight, he had to admit. Under the various branches, dead leaves and moss the Astartes had covered themselves with for concealment he could see a kaleidoscopic mix of no less than nine legion colours. They were Orphaned and homeless sons, left with little else but a desire to do something of worth with their tarnished names. Each suit of armour worn by each man had seen better days, their equipment was less than pristine and they were tired, each one of them. Sure they had eaten and slept plentifully in the days before they had made planet-fall, but theirs was a different sort of weariness. They had seen too much in too short a time, a look normally reserved for the Imperial Army recruits after their first taste of combat. Each man here was a veteran of dozens if not hundreds of battles and carried the scars of war as a badge of honor, but each one of them had been betrayed by their brothers. That betrayal was a personal sort of tragedy for each man, and that wound they each carried was not a badge of honor at all, but a soul-deep scar that had left them with nothing but the desire to restore a little of their previous selves. The only way an Astartes could do that was in the blood of their enemies of course, the thought of which made Kurak grin behind his helmet. He was a simple man and not given easily to pholosophical thoughts. It was the damned waiting, he knew, which gave him time to think. He did not like the sensation.

Bethuel was the only one of the 19 men not lying prone, concealed as he was inside a half hollow tree stump at the edge of the clearing giving him a great view of the Chateau ahead. Chateau Thorn. Their target. Bethuel was acting as the group's scout with unspoken but unanimous agreement. In his lightweight armour and toting his sniper rifle he looked the least like an Astartes out of all of them, but the obvious skill at infiltration of the Alpha Legionnaire was beyond doubt. He had remained these past three hours completely still with uncanny patience, watching the building complex in the near distance with unflinching concentration. Each man there waited for the order to advance from him.

It had taken this group of lost Brothers nearly two days of cross country trekking through quiet backwoods to get to this point, and Kurak was surprised they had not attracted more notice. Their landing at the port some kilometers behind them was a characteristically bloody affair. There had been no way to make any kind of landing without taking out the fortified port first due to its highly advanced ground to air tracking technology. Without that going down first, any landing of nearly 20 heavily armoured marines anyhere within 300 miles would have been easily identified and stamped out within moments.

The marines had managed to annihilate the small armoured port within a ten minute period. Kurak and his men along with Ywain, Merdem, Lyras and Alypius had stormed the landing site and killed the unprepared soldiers there while the rest of the group struck out for the occupied landing pad and comms tower. Soon enough there was nothing left breathing in the area except for the loyal Astartes, and they had waited with baited breath for the inevitable artillery strike if the defenders had managed to get a distress signal out. When none came, they knew they had succeeded and headed straight out into the countryside. The small isolated port burned behind them, and Kurak hoped it would not be discovered till long after they had had infiltrated into the wilds of Argyos.

A few isolated military patrols had been taken out on the way, as well as one lone civilian hunting Folari in the woods. None of the population of the planet must know of the force of marines making their way towards their target location, in case they reported the incursion to their superiors even with the best of intentions. Kurak had slipped forward from the group when the man had been spotted early in the morning, more than eager to claim the kill for himself. The terrified man had hardly un-slung his low caliber hunting rifle from his shoulder before Kurak had bisected his upper torso in one clean strike of his combat knife, both parts falling wetly to the forest floor. He knew any of the other marines could have also killed the man, eventually and after some soul searching, but he believed he was the only one who would not have hesitated to kill a civilian for the greater good of the mission. The group had wordlessly moved on from the bloody site and not a word was ever spoken of it again, although he knew he caught a few questioning glances from Kraeger, Ferreus and the other Death Guard.

Kurak's focus was brought to the present by the slight flick of Bethuel's left wrist. It was time to move.

Wordlessly, the Astartes untangled themselves from their natural cover and readied their weapons. They had discussed the assault several hours earlier when the Chateau had first come into sight. Prodigal, Kraeger and Ywain would take the perimeter and eliminate any roving patrols and take out any straggler forces that tried to escape. Kurak and his men, Lyras, Alypius, Merdem and Brenard would then use cover to get close to the complex and then break down the front door, killing anything they could inside. Ferreus and his fellow Death Guard would then engage the Chateu from the road on the other side of the main assault and take and hold the roof. Bethuel would hold back and snipe any stragglers and serious threats inside the complex. Once both assault teams had succeeded in claiming a foothold inside, everyone outside would then tighten the noose and sweep and clear the chateau till nothing lived but those loyal to the Emperor.

They moved out into the gathering dusk, weapons ready for the bloody work ahead.

Buried. That's how they say original Terrans dealt with their dead, ages upon ages ago when the species was first learning to cultivate the first world, before incinerators, recyclers, and anything like space travel. The same was practiced on Colchis, long before the arrival of Aureli... Brenard stopped himself from thinking any further. Dead. Yes, that is what he should be right now. Lying a foot or so under dirt and mulch was not even a close approximation, but perhaps it was symbolic, ritualistic... Oh, he shouldn't think anything of rituals. Never again. Brenard closed his eyes and exhaled a breath, dispelling the images of the past. He had to stop his thoughts quite frequently or his emotions would shake his already unsteady reasoning. Thought-stopping was the only way he could deal with the truth. The truth, that the blood of a traitor ran in his veins, that none of his damned legion could ever be trusted again, not with their now-known flawed geneseed. Why had he survived, he wondered. Why had he hung on for days, months, hours, moments, crawled out of the earth he had been buried under back on Istva... Stopped again. A moment of silence followed as Brenard cleared his mind once more. Hope. Yes, hope is what got him back to Terra after that. It was a false hope, that everything might turn out better somehow, but now he had to deal with the continued existence that the false hope had afforded him. So here he was, in the dirt, worthless, never again to be exalted or even acknowledged by the Imperium that had produced him, nor by the one known as the Emperor. His entire legion was nothing more than a failed experiment.

Now they were here on a world... yes, there were others like Brenard. ...here to fight the enemy, traitors, like their prideful primarchs. As if anything they could do could ever have a chance at redeeming them for what they were. No, blood was too thick. Geneseed was something that could not be washed away. No matter how loyal they may be as individuals, they were all as good as damned. From now on, this would be a story about living a damned life.

Slaughtering the denizens of the poorly defended port was quick and efficient, like it would have been on any human planet that refused Imperial compliance. The rulers would be purged and the population spared, for the most part, if possible, and then the populace would be reeducated. Brenard felt no regret about taking the port. He would kill, he would do anything, not for any hopes of redeeming himself, for that was impossible, but simply to obey as he was supposed to.

It was time to get up. A Blackshield rose from the black earth under the black night. Kurak, Lyras, Alypius, and Merdem were with him as they struck out toward the front door. Once the other squads were in position, the attack began. "Kill everyone," was their order. Cameras and lights were shot out immediately. Turret guns, unusual for any ordinary country Chateau, were taken out with grenades before the automatic defense systems could activate them. Unfortunately, an alarm sounded within the building, alerting the officials to attempt their escape. Brenard relished the peace of mind that washed away his painful contemplations as he forcefully kicked down the first door with his squadmates beside him. Battle was the only real relief.

On Terra they had began, all clad in storm-like grey, from Terra they had marched, to make the tyrants pay!

Terra, the planet that none of them would ever see again – each of them taken from the warlike stock of Albia at the unification of their homeworld...only young Kazimir having been plucked from Barbarus, his features those gaunt and sallow ones so familiar upon the now damned world.

Many of those they now accompanied would have known the name of the 'Death Guard', the Fourteenth Legion, but few of them would have noticed the fact that – beneath the flaking and battered black paint of their Mark Three and Four suits of power armour, beneath the stencilled and embedded Aquila of the loyalist Astartes – the paint to be found there was grey, that of their right arms a deep crimson, and upon their right shoulders the faint marking of the sun and skull of the legion that they had once been.

Squatting on one of the more minor roads, the systems of his armour still whirring even when not in motion, Ferreus awkwardly twisted his head about to take in the several other members of his squad, the helmet stuck in place but his eyes able to glance from side-to-side through the eye-slits before him; all was ready it seemed, bolters cocked and loaded, even the Multi-Melta hefted about by the largest of his squad ready to be deployed at a moments notice. It was a weapon that, unless they could find further ammunition for it, would eventually need to be discarded, no matter how much Brother Tihomir loved it.

“Look!” Hissed Sergeant Gentian, thrusting a large finger in the direction of battle, several figures making their way toward the château and the distinct sound of older variants of armour mingling with bolter fire, the thrump of grenades, and the ra-ta-ta ra-ta-ta of automated defence turrets. They had been told that Château Thorn was no normal fortification, and the intelligence turned out to be good.

“So, it begins.”

With a grunt of effort and an exhalation of air the nameless Astartes returned to his full height, dusk – their natural ally – setting in even as they moved, helmets auto-senses picking out mortal figures and targets even as he began to advance on the château with his squad fanning out into a semi-crescent to either side of him.

Although he, and by connection his squad, had been charged with the taking of the rooftop – a strategic position indeed, and not one to be given up lightly – he could see dozens of uniformed traitors milling about the larger bulks of Rhino APCs. AS far as he knew those were the true targets, those were what would carry them to the heart of the enemy and from there to final glory...metal boxes.

“Gentian!”

There was a sudden halt and lowering of their bulks as the Legionnaires took a knee halfway between their objective and their former cover of the surrounding woodland, each as black as the night and probably for that reason alone – as well as the added 'distraction' on the other side of the fortification – not being shot at, Ferreus gesturing for the Sergeant to kneel by him.

“Open a channel with the other squads, I have sighted the APCs; shall I engage, or do we proceed to the roof?”

Too long had he been a follower, but nor was he truly a leader, so for now he would wait.

Kurak had taken his time approaching the front doors of the chateau, leading the small group of marines carefully from scrap of cover to cover. They now stood less than 100 meters from the front entrance of the grand old building, crouching behind a trimmed hedge in a stacked column, ready to attack. So far they hadn't been spotted. Clipped comms traffic was filtering across the airwaves from the other Astartes watching the perimeter with the occasional report of a downed sentry. Kurak had heard no shots throughout their advance from his Brothers and the guards he could see in the complex looked thoroughly off guard, indicating the marines watching his advance had managed to do their job with discretion so far. He knew the time for such tactics was soon to be over, and was relishing the idea.

"Kurak, Come in", the hushed tones of Prodigal came over his personal comms. Prodigal barely spoke except with his own men, so when directly addressed by him one tended to pay attention.

"Go ahead"

"You are clear to the gate. Ferreus and his men are ready to attack from the far side of the complex. We'll move in to support once you're inside. Kill Everyone"

"Received" Kurak clipped back. Prodigal was slowly beginning to take the lead on this mission and though Kurak was reserved about someone who would hardly spend time with his colleagues, the man clearly knew what he was doing. He was happy enough to follow anyone who gave orders like 'Kill everyone'. Some of the guards at the front of the chateau were smoking and one even appeared to be drinking, while the few men manning the sentry guns and spotlights near the roof were clearly not looking intently for anything coming their way. Kurak almost felt sorry for them, not knowing what hell was coming for them. Jonas, Rivacheg, Lyras, Alypius, Merdem and Brenard were lined up to his rear, rigid and alert for the order to attack. Each man behind him knew their role in getting to the gates and inside, and there was only one thing left to do.

"Now!" Kurak bellowed into his helmet receiver.

Merdem sprang to his feet and opened up with his heavy bolter. The thudding shells stitched deep craters across the crenelated rooftop, smashing through the flood lights, sandbags and men who were scrambling for their weapons. The rest of the Astartes sprang forward, firing their bolters at anything that moved as they made a full run across the relatively open ground towards the main entrance.

Kurak squeezed the trigger on his bolter hard as he ran, aiming it in the general direction of the main door as did his two fellow World Eaters beside him. He wasn't the best of shots and especially not at this range while moving, but the combined firepower of three bolters on automatic fire was more than enough for what they faced. The guards in front of the doors seemed to disintegrate under the barage, the explosive shells blowing apart ribcages and popping craniums as if they were hot needles popping water baloons. Lyras, Alypius and Merdem were alternately snapping expert shots at cameras and other lights at the front of the building and throwing a handful of grenades at the automatic sentry guns on either side as they passed, lining the gravel pathway they were sprinting down. The grenades did their job, fracturing the automated weapons before they could spin up and aim at the charging marines.

A few seconds later all six men arrived at the front gate, stomping through the mulched remains of the hapless guards. They were joined shortly after by the heavy bolter toting Merdem, who Kurak knew was grinning behind his helmet, sharing a lust for battle the equal of any World Eater.

"Jonas, Charges!" He barked, the other Astartes already clearing a path either side of the bolter damaged door as the young marine unstrapped a demolition charge from his leg and pin grappled it to the central lock. He was done in seconds, stacking up behind Kurak as they prepared to make their grand entrance.

Just then a klaxon sounded inside the building, followed by the ever increasing shouts of men. Kurak could also hear the dull rattle of bolter fire around the outskirts of the complex, indicating his brothers watching the outside had also discarded stealth for a more direct approach. So far, so good.

"Now" He said, bracing as the charge was detonated, blowing shards of wood and metal out into the courtyard and also into the building itself. He allowed himself a slight smile as he heard the screams of the soldiers inside who had clearly been preparing a welcome committee for the marines, but hadn't been expecting quite so much high explosives.

"In!" He bellowed, following behind Brenard who had to kick through a clinging remain of the door, in through the smoke and fire...

Jackrum sat quietly in a seat he had never expected to have taken in ten thousand years; The captain's chair of the Beacon of Knowledge. In the decades since he had returned from his studies on Mars it had been made rather clear to him by his battle brothers that while he was of vital importance to the day to day running of the Legion, they didn't trust him with anything other then tech; His ties to the Mechnicum were worn clearly on his armor and they had their doubts about his loyalty to Magus and the rest of the Legion because of it.

It was with a strange irony that proved that they had been right to be concerned, through not for the reasons that they had believed.

When the message reporting their loyalties to Warmaster Horus had arrived he had reasoned and tried to argue that they had needed to gather more information, work out what was actually happening before they through in their allegiance one way or another... but most of his brothers had been all to quick to believe their primarch, all to willing to abandon an Emperor that had largely abandoned them years prior when he judged their powers illegal.

Now he was the last battle brother left alive on the Nova Class frigate Beacon of Knowledge and was thus by default its captain. Pressing a button on the chair, he opened a vox line to engineering and sent a blast of what a normal human would have considered whiteness that was in fact compressed information sent in a single burst about the situation on the bridge. Getting updated on the situation in Engineering by Rupert, he frowned a little to himself.

There wasn't enough crew left to crew the ship. The Beacon of Knowledge had been running the official bare minimum crew to man it before the schism and the resulting loses had taken him well below the numbers required to get the ship moving at all. They were stuck in the void until further notice.

With a small prayer to the Omnissiah, Jackrum performed the rites to activate a distress beacon. He was careful to ensure that it was a Mechnicum beacon he sent out rather then the ship's own Thousand Sons one; Anyone who came looking might be less inclined to shoot on sight for the Mechnicum then his own Legion.

All he could do now was wait.

Ywain had hidden further back, his goal simple. To secure the Rhino transports, they could argue all they liked he was Ravenwing the second greatest fast attack soldiers in the Imperium after the White Scars. He was an experienced driver and more importantly right now he needed to focus on something other than his memories. His rescue had been a welcome experience, however since then he had remained silent. He thought back on the moment he'd been brought aboard this rag tag crew of broken soldiers.

He'd hauled left over bolter rounds onto the ship when it landed and listened to the others. The Dark Angel did not speak, he just thought back to his brothers on Caliban or his kin trapped Crusading as the other Legion's turned and burned one another. He wondered if Caliban would survive this madness, he hoped Luther would protect the planet and when it was done he would get to honor his brothers who died.

However, now was not time to mourn or to think. Ywain picked up his bolter advancing towards the building, spotting the squad Ferreus ahead. They had opened a channel, Ywain answered quickly. "Advance, I will stay with the transports." He spoke mag locking his bolter into place as he drew the chain sword from his side and then pulled his bolt pistol from it's holster. The black clad, battle worn knight looked imposing as any space marine would. Yet behind the burning coal red eyes, there was more fire. A hate that burned so brightly for these traitors, he had been raised in Order and from their raised up to become a space marine.

He was told that they would do what the order once did for Caliban, protect it from monsters that stalked places unseen. To turn your back on the Imperium that had given so much to make them Space Marine's but slaughter brothers, civilians, and those who dared question your reasons. Ywain caught a glimpse of a man fleeing from the compound, he was not armed yet none could know they were here. He fired one shot, the fat man who had been clad in a purple attire screamed as his right leg exploded. He tried to crawl away, looking at his bolt pistol then to the Rhino he moved to enter the drivers seat. Every round was precious after all, no point in wasting a second bullet on a traitorous pig.

Connecting himself to the rhino took mere seconds, as he sent it moving forward he heard the man beg for mercy. Ywain had not come to give mercy, he was an angel of wrath, of vengeance. He halted the vehicles movement after the sickening sound of a man being crushed under the treads of the APC. With the front splattered with blood and his rage calmed at least for the moment, the angel spoke into his comm bead. "I secured one Rhino, it is in working order. Slight damage to the paint job, blood washes out bolter rounds are to precious to waste." He added with little emotion as he cycled systems to see exactly what the Rhino was equipped with and how the machine spirit handled.

Brenard struck out in front, barging into the open hall with boltpistol raised. The element of surprise had so far shielded him, and he emptied a clip, one shot for each mortal before him as he slowly advanced. Guardsmen, delegates, wives, hive lords, and whatever cult leaders all scattered for the escape routes. Low-caliber rounds pinked off his black armor harmlessly as the few brave enough to face his direction tried their luck. Brenard's instincts took them out first, their aiming at him marking them as higher priority targets in his sight. Resistance waned with the culling of the brave.

The former Word Bearer continued, reloading automatically. 2, 3... in this room, 1 behind the overturned table. Brenard blasted him away through the wood. Screaming and cursing coming from the left, have to go check the next room... It was all fairly non-chalant. Nothing to think about here. Just killing. These traitorous heretics would die quickly, for "Shame" had come for them. This mission would be over soon, and Imperial command would be reestablished. Then, of course, there would be a next mission after this one. Brenard hoped that it would prove more difficult than simply mopping up some some unprepared planetary rulers and their stuffy entourage. This kind of easy mission was for the space marines that the Imperium wanted to keep around. Brenard deserved something more high risk, something where his likely death would serve to save another space marine to come after him, someone of more trustworthy stock.

And so he slayed, vaguely listening to the vox calls of his brethren to be aware of their progress.

Kurak had stowed his bolter shortly after entering the chateu, drawing his power sword and bolt pistol instead. The tight confines of the building was what he and his men excelled at, clearing room after room of tightly packed enemies with nowhere to run.

He had ordered the marines to fan out and start clearing the building room by room. He wanted to ensure that as few as possible escaped for the clean-up crew outside to have to deal with. So far however he was unimpressed. A few guards and personal bodyguards of the many high ranking officers and dignitaries had attempted to fight, but had been cut down with relative ease. Seeing this the vast majority of the armed men had simply dropped their weapons and fled along with the civilians. This made the job of butchering them far easier, but Kurak had hoped for a more definitive statement to the planetary governor that the wrath of the Astartes was upon him.

He casually beheaded a captain in a fine formal uniform who had tried begging for mercy while on his knees. He looked about him, taking in the piles of dead around the front entrance and all around the grand staircase and balconies in the grand entrance hall. They had cleared it in short order but who knew what organised resistance lay ahead.

"Breaching team, regroup at entrance when your sectors are clear". Kurak said. He listened carefully for the clipped acknowledgements from the other six marines he had entered with. One by one the blood spattered marines returned and formed a loose protective circle while the others joined them. Kurak had suggested these men accompany him in this assault, knowing that there would be many unarmed civilians that would have to be pur down. They were the ones he had fewest doubts about, and his own men, Brenard and Merdem had not disappointed. The two Emperors children however had seemingly tried to only target those who put up any resistance, and even now from their bodylanguage Kurak could sense they were uneasy about the slaughter. He would have to watch them both closely.

"Report. All sectors clear?"

"Clear" each man reported in turn.

"Secondary clearnance then. Nothing leaves this complex alive."

He lead the group to a double set of doors a few of the civilians had fled through earlier at the back of the main room. Nothing had come from that room and from the side of the door it suggested to be the entrance to the main hall Kurak was confident of simply continuing the slaughter there, just as they had done so far.

Kurak faced the door with both his world waters beside him and the other four marines stacked up and ready behind him.

"No remorse!" He screamed into his comma, setting it to full amplification so the whole building could hear it he hoped.

"No mercy!" Came the instant and rehearsed shout from Jonas and Rivacheg either side of him. They kicked the door to kindling in one attempt and strode into the hall.

The enemy was waiting for them. Over 40 well armed infantry had taken whatever hastily prepared cover they could in the room and had every weapon trained on the door Kurak had just come through. He could see all manner of light arms, some grenade launchers and even a tripod mounted autocannon.

"Fire!" He heard one of them shout, and the world errupted into flame...

---

The patrols and the people running from the Chateau along the access road leading out were the problem of Prodigal Son and his fellow Luna Wolves, as they thought of themselves. Who they were, why they were there, whether or not they were innocent or guilty, it didn't matter. With the savage cunning of his legion, they laid the next trap for the next patrol and fell upon them with fist and knife, eschewing the more powerful weapons as unnecessary. They collected wargear in this fashion, grenades mostly, though one of the brothers took up a flamer, hooking the backpack a normal human would wear to his power armour's belt, as a prize from the fighting.

The other prize was the enemy's comm systems, which Prodigal Son himself patched into his helmet's systems. That allowed him to track the last patrol, even as he took note of the time; the assault would begin soon.

Three patrols down, and they used their autosenses and their own hearing and sight to try to locate more prey in the hunt. Once the noise started, he unlimbered his bolter and others did the same, for the time was past when they'd need such a thing. The last group were headed toward the conflagration of the Chateau; they were alert and aware, and there wouldn't be an easy opportunity to close with them, especially as they headed for the enclosure where the Rhinos were...

@Jarrid

Even as the defenders opened up on the World Eaters that were charging their positions, two of the more faint hearted of their number near the back had taken fright at the Marines that were coming towards them. Turning to flee like cowards, they instead dropped to the ground as they clutched at their heads while screaming in purest agony. Their muscles forcefully shifted, their bones snapped and knitted themselves back together in new, stronger shapes as their skin was rent open to revel fissures an unnaturally red, unholy glowing substance that hurt the mind just to gaze at.

The same unholy glow seemed to consume both of their eyes and at back of their throats as they wordlessly screamed in agony before surging upwards to their feet like a puppet having their strings pulled... before turning around and letting out a roar that sounded like a mixture of the deepest of pains and the most all consuming of rages as both of them charged towards the World Eaters at speeds normal humans shouldn't have been able to ran at, one of them swiping at the head of one of his former, unchanged comrades as they pasted and taking his head clean off with a demonic looking claw!

Finishing the checks, he exited the vehicle standing atop it with bolt pistol and chain sword at the ready. He jumped down on to the ground looking around trying to determine if any enemies were advancing on the newly acquired transports. He stopped at the sound of a scream, he'd heard many but that... It reminded of the monsterous being he'd faced down while waiting for rescue. He feared nothing but the memory of those horrors was something that he would never truly be free of.

Clearing the vehicle bay, he took position. "I will remain with the transport's, keep them safe from any stragglers or survivors trying to make use of them for escape." He was one of the youngest here, and more importantly he lacked the veteran status of some of the others. He'd fought in the great crusade it was true but his father the Lion had been discovered latter than most. Yet the Dark Angel's in a short amount of time had proven themselves to be an outstanding Legion, with clever tactics and adaptable wings. Like he ached to spill the blood of traitors in vengeance, he knew his place was here protecting the captured transports.

As he pushed the vehicles into the small garage locking it behind himself, he felt cold. As if an unnatural presence was nearby, acting on a whim he moved towards the repair bay of the garage autosense's helping him to search through the darkened building bolt pistol and chainsword ready for whatever came at him.

The Sons of Horus were the arch-traitor legion, though Lorgar's Word Bearers planted the seeds, but they had one of the best records of them all in the Great Crusade. Cthonian ferocity was harnessed into the legion, supplementing the gene-seed-implanted ferocity of the original Terrans that made such an impact on the Luna campaigns.

Under Horus, they were throat-slitting killers whose instincts were put into the service of Humanity. But they also venerated their Primarch, shouting "LUPERCAL!" as they sprung into battle. Some of that was on display as the small group of Luna Wolves in this ragged band handled the perimeter duty and silenced sentries brutally with fist and knife, which was a return to the hive gang war tactics some of the recruits, had they said anything of their origins, might have learned in their upbringing. But now, they faced a different situation and a tactical shift was in order as the noise came from the Chateau and the bolters were unlimbered as they loped toward their final target, approaching the Rhinos that the Dark Angel guarded.

Prodigal Son may well have been a silent leader, at least to the outsiders, but he was a tactician to the bone, and he'd positioned himself to come to the aid of other Space Marines when the unexpected happened. They would never say the name of their Primarch at all, but they still knew how to fight.

A bolter shell was a mass-reactive shell that left a horrific and gory wound that was terminal, particularly to a normal human being like the militiamen. And yet, the fire did not bring the enemies down; his own bolt barked out of the barrel and found its mark, except the mark was growing exponentially, expanding like a balloon, with red-glowing eyes and eldritch energy encircled them at wrists and ankles, hauling them into the air. There was a scream of ethereal rage as these human beings twisted beyond comprehension and sanity, to the horror of the Astartes near the rhinos, veterans of the Crusade and even the opening blows of the Heresy, were unfamiliar with.

They had seen mutations, but this was different and smelled of sorcery; the men burst into a spray of blood and from the spray of blood, suspended in the air, came a portal. And from that portal came, howling, sword-bearing horrors that rushed at them with a terrible ferocity and speed. The flamer carried by one of their number unleashed in a long burst, trying to catch them as the bolters were fired rapidly. A piece of the Prodigal Son's mind gibbered, but the other part bellowed "AND YOU WILL KNOW NO FEAR."

But if the bolter fire shredded the first ranks, multiple hits ensuring that they stayed down, there were enough left to engage the rest of Prodigal Son's small detachment. The Luna Wolves were fluid and instinctive in their shift of weaponry, from the ranged combat role into preparation to defend in close combat, and ferocious in meeting the charge. It was chainswords against those demonic blades, even while the whispers rang in their ears, calling them to their rage...

With all sounds of screaming extinguished unto the final breath, Brenard was satisfied his sector was clear. The sounds of gunfire elsewhere in the chateau seemed to have also died down, which likely meant his brothers had too finished their work. "Sector clear." Brenard acknowledged in a grim voice by vox as he turned to regroup at the entryway with the others. He was not the least bit surprised when Kurak ordered the purging extended to the rest of the complex. It only made sense.

Cold unfeeling red light shone from his helm as Brenard stood close behind Kurak's World Eaters. The door broke open, shattering like the lives they took by bolter and blade. The vision that met them on the otherside was somewhat unexpected, but not at all unfamiliar. All of the astartes had the same reflex, to dodge the inevitably oncoming storm of fire. Yet the narrow hall was unforgiving, pitting the warriors between the wall and merciless arms. It was the armor and bodies of his traitor-son brethren that provided Brenard with the cover he needed to pull a grenade. He threw it forward as he dropped down with his pistol. The fire was so bright and the explosions intense at this close distance. Only his sensory modulators kept him from going blind or deaf, even briefly.

Brenard couldn't stop himself from uttering a reflex prayer, for which he immediately kicked himself, btu there was no time to think of it. The grenade he had chucked in the general direction shredded through a dozen lives and injured at least as many, throwing the guard into disarray behind a cloud of smoke and failing ceiling tiles. To their credit, guns still blazed into the hall. The autocannon choked to a halt as its handler fell, spattering bullets into the wall in an off direction. Brenard got up. He brothers got up. The Emperor's wrath had yet to be be brought.

The lone knight heard the sharp repeat of bolter fire, he knew instantly a fight had begun outside the garage. Having locked the front doors and garage door he moved to the door at the rear of the repair bay. Kicking it sending it flying clear of the doorway. He broke into a sprint, he did not pause when he saw the strange red creatures. He saw them attacking his brothers and knew that they were a foe, so they would die. Letting off rounds from his bolt pistol as charged into the massive bringing chain sword biting into from the side as another fell under the fire from his pistol.

"We are the Emperor's angels of death! And you will die scum!" He cried, while he might have been younger warriors present, he was one of the most devout and unflinching. He had survived trials on Caliban, the trials to become a space marine, fought with one of the most tactically renown Primarchs. Has was the only son of the Lion currently taking to the field against the enemies of the Emperor. His fury had to be enough to stand for his entire legion and no traitor or their pawns would overcome his wrath. His brothers, his leaders, and his mission were failed, to him only thing left was redemption in death and joining his brothers their.

There were things in this universe that their fathers had seen fit to keep from them, things that existed beyond space and time, creatures that they had been told were a differing breed of Xenos and would die as easily as any other – they had been lied to. These creatures were not aliens, although one may have thought of them as such, bursting from the flesh of living beings or appearing from nowhere through portals of pure energy. All Ferreus knew, and what he voxed to his squad mates, was that they had to die.

“Are you seeing this, sir?” Crackled the helm-vox with Kazimir's agitated voice.

“Aye,” grunted Ferreus in return, “I see it...no doubt the spawn of the Arch-traitor will not appreciate our help.”

Oh yes, 'Prodigal' made it very difficult for others to know anything of he and his men – their armour was as black and marked with Imperial symbols as his own, they did not speak to outsiders, and none of the former Death Guard had ever seen them without their helmets. There were other ways, if one knew how to observe, that ones identity could be revealed and, no matter how hard they may try, the modus operandi of the currently engaged tetrad was at least clear to the leader of the Fourteenth Legion loyalists.

“What are they?” Questioned Gentian as he checked his bolter was loaded, a slight hint of nervousness evident in the veterans voice, a taint that had never before sounded from that throat.

“It does not matter from whence they came, or what they are, all that matters is we destroy them utterly; bring that melta to bear, Timohir, the rest of you form a line and fire as we advance. Short bursts, conserve your ammunition, and try not to hit our brothers.”

They did as they were told, the things currently engaged in close-quarter melee with the Luna Wolves only now beginning to register this new threat as they were flanked, the Dusk Raiders (for they were Mortarion's sons no more!) opening up with their own weapons; humanoid beasts of crimson flesh and horned heads, eyes burning with unholy hate and blood-lust, as tall as an Astartes and bound in muscle bearing two-handed blades of sizzling metal. What caused them to sizzle? A constant dapple of blood that seemed to cascade from out of nowhere. Had they been of lesser creation, their mind would have broken.

Ferreus raised his Ikanos-pattern pistol, firing of single shots of .50 explosive-tipped rounds, refocusing and firing again as he moved forward at a walking pace alongside his battle-brothers. Within the confines of his helmet, covered by the face grill and sloped eye sockets, his jaw was set hard in an expression of determination but also of annoyance. Why would these beasts not die like normal creatures? The unearthly roar of one burning daemon shaking his very soul as melta fire consumed it, miniature explosions tearing chunks out of them even as others simply ignored their dead and dying.

Terran born they may have been, but this did not stop the five silently forward-moving Astartes from employing the stoicism and brutally frontal tactics of their erstwhile Primarch, loosing off salvo after salvo in a fusillade of close-range fire power as they moved ever closer.

Once within charging distance the line was halted by a single word, the carefully targeted fire never ceasing until a magazine ran dry, Ferreus reaching for his chainaxe and activating it with a thumbing of the stub on the hilt that sent the teeth whirring. On either side of him he was imitated perfectly, smaller side arms and combat knives unsheathed with clockwork precision, each transhuman warrior prepared to give their lives for the good of the Imperium they still served.

“We are the voice and the clarion call; We are tyrant's ruin and rival's fall.” Voxed Ferreus through his helmet, and as they strode forward with extreme purpose of will the Dusk Raiders motto was echoed by all.

The foe was terrible in its strength, and even the wiles of veteran Astartes did not stop one of their own from falling to one of those two-handed blades, leaving a terrible wound and a dead battle-brother as the foe sought another victim.

The intercession of the others helped turn that grim tide; and the fight started to move the other way. All the while, the sounds in his ears and the altered vision, the product of unusual lights and things that flashed around, as vision itself shifted subtly and unpredictably, making one question their balance and, more fundamentally, their sanity. It made the fight with these things even more desperate, as something gnawed at them and laughed all the while, promising them torment, pleasure, power...

He'd heard the seductive likes before and perhaps it was his lot to be eternally tempted. The Primarch had fallen, and perhaps they shared the flaws that made them extra attractive to the things seething out there. Perhaps it was easier to prey on their emotions, knowing they were cast adrift lacking their genetic founder.

Even that doubt was deadly, and caused him to falter a moment, realize his error and come back at the red-skined demon with a roar and a renewed ferocity. It wasn't unthinking fury, but the thought that he was faltering and abandoning his brothers in the fight that carried him through; a chainsword gripped in both hands and brought down into the skull of the thing that he was duelling with, the blades ripping through flesh without remorse, roaring down through horn and bone as he pushed it harder and harder into the thing. The blade might well be ruined in the fight, for chainswords were not invincible, but at least he'd kill the beast. And if it didn't do the job completely, he'd find another way.

He wasn't going to be taken, not this time...