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Lucius Andromade

I

Acane was enormous in the eyes of the local farmers flocking to its confines for refuge. In the eyes of men who had seen fortress worlds, fleets of battleships, and monasteries which housed entire chapters of astartes, the city was an insignificant dot on an even more insignificant planet, which had been all but abandoned, save for its local garrison and one chapter of the Emperor's finest. When the sky began to darken, the people flocked to the cathedrals in the thousands. They prayed for the Emperor's forgiveness, the Emperor's protection, the Emperor's mercy, and various other virtues they believed deserving of them. Some of the smaller places of worship had been altogether abandoned, with the evacuation having taken those who would normally be found there. Several of these buildings were used as stockpiles for ammunition, others for fuel,  and one was being used as a military hospital, and so on. Acane had functional hospitals, but the majority of the staff had been evacuated, meaning that the people had to rely on the local military forces and a few volunteers for medical aid. The evacuation had left the majority of the medical supplies in the hospitals, so the PDF medical teams were amply supplied in their makeshift hospital. Several officers in the planetary defence force had suggested to their commander that they occupy the hospitals, rather than the cathedrals, but this suggestion was negated due to the positions of the hospitals. The cathedrals, and surrounding unoccupied buildings, were equidistant, and therefore allowed for structured lines of supply and communications, whereas the hospitals were far from where the enemy was likely to be and would therefore require substantial portions of the PDF to defend its perimeter, which could otherwise be engaged elsewhere. There was less than a thousand PDF personnel in Acane, many thousands less than would be needed to defend it against what was coming. However, they had no way to escape, and for most of them that was enough to keep working. Some had deserted and attempted to join Chaos cults, but were promptly disposed of by their more loyal colleagues. What few soldiers there were in the city were tasked with piling ammunition and supplies at equidistant locations in a defensive perimeter. Pairs of soldiers carried heavy green boxes bearing the insignia of the local planetary defence force, containing M36 lasrifles, lasgun battery packs, belts of bolter ammunition, explosive grenades, vox casters, and so on. Initially, they had been stored in one pile in a single building, but advice from an astartes sergeant reminded them that a single explosion would ignite their entire magazine, and that it would be wiser to split it equally among several buildings. The PDF was in desperate short supply of vehicles, mainly comprising a few dozen requisitioned civilian cars, with the doors pulled off to allow for quick access. They were not prepared. They were underarmed, underequipped, undertrained, poorly lead and lacked vital experience. It was unlikely that they would last long, but however long they lasted was time for larger forces to arrive.

Lucius grinned a canine grin, his fang-like teeth bared in glee as he bounced from one foot to the next. He glistened with sweat and his monstrous physique was bared, save for a cloth around his waist, as his brother astartes watched him. He was standing in a makeshift training arena, similar to that found on many astarte warships, in a small corner of a grandiose cathedral, surrounded by six dead servitors. Their arms had been split and shattered and their torsos were cut open. Failed astartes has little value, even less than the local garrison, but he was certain he would hear about it from one of his superiors. Lucius' scapula length silver hair flowed around him as he danced from side to side, avoiding the blows of a brother marine's combat blade, as long as an imperial guard officers's sword, as he lunged towards him, bellowing a battle cry. Three astartes watched from the edges of the makeshift arena, clutching various injuries. One had a broken wrist, which would soon be healed by the company apothecary. Another had a scar across his right biceps which looked strikingly similar to an L shape. Others watched from outside the arena, clad in their full power armour as they performed equipment checks. There were dozens in the cathedral, which had been made the fourth company's headquarters for the duration of the invasion. Lucius' bared his canines, and the last thing his brother marine saw before being handily disarmed and knocked to the floor with a thunderous crash was Lucius' flowing silver hair. Lucius remained untouched, after near a dozen bouts. His body glistened and he basked in the glory of defeating his brothers, many of whom watched on in envy, others in contempt. Lucius was the company champion, undefeated by other champions or any brother in his own company, and he recognised his own skill. He was talented in the eyes of some, vain in the eyes of others, but he knew his abilities, his limitations and, above all, his purpose. His sole, and entire purpose was to defend his captain and to meet the enemy champions on the field. Not to lead, or to command, but to protect the captain from harm, and do harm unto those that would threaten him. After he received no more challengers in his improvised sparring arena, Lucius prepared himself for the upcoming meeting in the cathedral with the rest of the fourth company's command squad. He washed in sacred, scented oils and his long, silver hair shone brilliantly, framed by two enormous white wings flanking his backpack, reminiscent of the primarch Sanguinius. As opposed to the Emperor's aquila, the centre of Lucius' power armour bore two similar silver wings, with a single fist-sized red gem between them. His shoulder plates and waist were decorated with half a dozen purity seals, upon which his deeds were scrawled. At his left side he carried a bolt pistol, the size a normal man's head, in a leather holster of a rich brown texture. At the opposite side he carried a long sheath, almost half as tall as him. Inside the sheath he carried a relic blade, a venerable weapon of many centuries, master crafted by the chapter forge workers. The blade itself flickered with blue and white energy when drawn, and its pommel was crafted in the shape of two silver wings, a downscaled version of those carried on Lucius' back, in the centre of which sat a red gem with a black centre. Lucius, donning his full suit of yellow power armour, save for his helmet, gracefully strode into the centre of the grandiose cathedral, his silver wings framing his armoured physique, and met with his brother astartes.
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