As the waves of enemies poured forth, the Relictors' circle of death was miraculously holding. No other space marine chapter could have cut down foes at such a rapid pace as they could. The daemon weapons gleamed and howled, spiking the air with laughter and other chaotic wailing as they tasted a feast of souls and blood. And yet the enemy tried to break them with sheer numbers, fearless with insanity, they charged in, heedless of the statistics, hundreds of them, for every one Relictor.
Yet above all Lattore's warriors, there was one that slew far more than any of his peers. Clad in slate grey and black with an unusually large, possessed heavy bolter that appeared to be made of flesh and ceremite and dripping ichor, Faustis Krol laid waste to to the enemy from the front of the defensive formation. With endless ammunition of immaterial bolts of psychic energy that curved mid-air to strike targets even around corners, his wrath was inescapable. Hundreds upon hundreds died in whatever direction he faced, and every death seemed to fuel him and his daemonic weapon. Krol's eye slits had taken on an unnatural hue of red, with tendrils of glowing vapor rising up from his helm as he fired endlessly. He wasn't responding to vox hails to check on his status, and it had to be presumed that he had been lost to some kind of battle rage.
Still, the warrior was invaluable. He alone had opened up a swath in the northern front and had taken out any and all ranged enemies that would have suppressed Relictor engagements. The marine was a monster, possibly literaly. May the Emperor have mercy on his soul.
Just as the tides seemed to lessen and victory glimmered like a morsel of food to a starving wretch, the enemy brought out its more serious forces. Large and monstrous chaos spawn, creatures so horrid they were an insult to the very essence of existence, ambled forth by impossible means. These things had both physical and psychic attacks that tested even Relictors' disciplined minds and bodies. They took a lot more damage, and regular weapons couldn't even touch them.
The first one charged in, and by its sheer mass, it broke the Relictor's line. A few astartes were trampled and coated with gooy slime as it passed over them. A living axe bit into its side, eating into its flesh and causing a howl of agony. The company struggled with their dwindling numbers to bring it down. The other spawn were fast approaching.
As it fell, it was Faustis Kroll, or what was left of him, that climbed atop the thing's body and fired an array at the next creature. A hail of energy bolts flew into it, exploding one after another into an ever-deepening crater to its heart. Demon blood and flesh splattered into the air in a sickening rain until the beast toppled to the ground in a melting heap. As long as Krol stood, the center of the circle formation would remain intact.
But there were more, and the Relictor forces were going to be critically spread out between each of them as they hit the ring simultaneously. It was hard to gage whether or not any Relictors would be left standing before all the chaos monstrosities had been dealt with, and there were still more mortal enemies to come after that.
All hope of victory or even survival seemed to die in an instant as the eighth monstrosity appeared with its rider. Blasting Relictors as he went, the heretic drove his warspawn into a charge directly at Krol in the middle of the ring.
"Faustis!" Leal shouted in futility, charging toward them from out of distance.
Too late, as a spiked tentacle shot out from the abomination and lashed itself around Krol, picking him up like the trunk of an elephant. The daemonic heavy bolter never stopped firing, but its damage wasn't enough. The spikes dug into the grappled Relictor, then shot through him suddenly as they elongated like swords with him in the tentacle's grasp. Blood poured from Krol's now limp body and the firing ceased.
"No!" Shouted Leal and he raised his weapon against the creature and its rider. The light seemed to blind and repel the thing, and Leal's attacks seared deep into its body. Nonetheless, Krol was dead, and that was a great loss to their firepower.
The spiked tentacles dropped Krol's remains and went for their next target. Leal slashed at them, holding them at bay. In his visor, he could read the sudden spike in losses of his men, the breaks in their formation were widening as displayed on his helm UI. The moment was turning desparate, and in that desparation, Leal felt a familiar voice enter his mind.
"Leal. Give in and accept my power."
It was his Godemperor-damned sword, and it scared Leal more than the prospect of death itself, which loomed over him in that very moment. He remembered Garwyn's warning to him aboard the starfort not long ago, and refused the offer. "No, I can't." This was probably exactly what had happened to Faustis before he was killed. All the daemonweapons did this, and the only reason the Relictors could use them, the only reason they alone had that right, was because they knew not to listen to those voices. It was their duty!
Leal lept back in the nick of time, rolling up to stand again, and he suddenly wondered where Garwyn was that he didn't yell at him again for losing his focus. Was he dead? There was no time to think of it. Leal attacked again, casting a bolt of energy from the tip of his daemonweapon, causing the giant eighth spawn great pain and to step back. This left him another moment for thought.
"Yield Leal."
Why was there no support from the ships in orbit? Surely they could have been bombarding the bulk of the enemy army all this time. Were the chaos spawn not detected? "Shut it, and do your duty soulblade!" Leal retorted, but the truth was he was running out of reasons to deny the voice in his sword.
