All of Nathiel's HUDs were flashing red as he laid motionless under what felt like the weight of an entire planet. Trying to move his right arm under the rubble, Nathiel could not feel any response from his nerves. Using his left arm, after maglocking his hammer onto his armor, he began to remove the heavy and vast amounts of metal off of his body. After a moment of doing so, Nathiel had made enough room around himself to see that his arm had been completely removed by the beast. Perhaps it had be the adrenaline from battle, but it had not set in until that moment the gravity of his injury. Regardless of what had happened to his body, and what it was now lacking, Nathiel could still hear the sounds of war calling for him to return. So, using every ounce of strength and help his armor would lend, he pushed up and out of the remaining rubble.

The final stone final gave way and the light from the fires of war once again touched his armor. Nathiel rose to his feet on top of what used to be the glorious wall of the Imperium. He took his hammer in hand, after a moment of grabbing his bearings. Looking to Glorian he called out, "Apothecary is required, Brother Glorian. Make it quick as there are still enemies and traitors that taint the surface of Terra!"

@DeranVendar @Redthirst

"We follow orders and pull back. As much as I'd love to go find those who survived the impact, we cannot afford to let sentiment get in the way of judgement. Our brothers will either meet us at the next defensive point, or will die stemming the tide of traitors for a moment. Come Iron Master, there is still a war to be won."

With simple words, Dyzek would turn from the fray, and begin moving off. He did not enjoy turning from the fight, but he knew that they must, that already this breach was being accounted for, and that soon, an Imperial response would come. When the barrage came to rain down on the traitors, he didn't want any of his blood being caught in the cross fire.

Careful to keep a slow enough pace for the Terminator, Dyzek would navigate his way back towards friendly lines.​

The Dark Angel wasted little time in his sprint, throwing the power 'knife' whilst rolling - watching as it impaled itself into one of the Iron Warriors' elbows - and sheathing his combat knife, now bringing himself to the power sword in question, grabbing it into one hand and rushing into his foes.

It was a fairly well made weapon, one with the craftsmanship of the Blood Angels; its guard shaped into wings and the pommel made into a crimson 'blood drop', covered in dark red and gold colouration. Its blade was polished but chipped, most certainly from the wear and tear of the Horus Heresy thus far; still, a suitable weapon.

Bringing it up to bear, the robed Apothecary slammed into his foes, ramming his remaining pauldron into one Iron Warrior's breastplate and slashing forward with his blade to cut through another's hands and boltgun in two strokes, the second of which leading into chopping into a third foe. His bolt pistol was unholstered swiftly and, naturally, gave yet another double-tap into this disarmed (hah) foe.

"The Lion sends his regards, scum." He growled through his vox-grills, bringing the bolt pistol up and emptying the remaining magazine into his foes, cutting through them as he went; his robes torn and the cloth flowing with the dust and wind, he was a robed menace. But for once, he felt as though he belonged, proudly bringing this weapon of another Legion into his former brothers' hearts and minds.

He felt worthy of the name Astartes. Even if it was as a 'Dark Angel'.

Still, Marcus knew he couldn't push too far, as he did his best to remain near any rubble or hills in the terrain, not wishing to fully charge just yet; he was just one man after all, one Angel of Death against a horde of monsters and heretics.

Just need to cut them out carefully. Block the incoming attack, lunge in and damage what you can.​

The Angel's voice was the only thing that felt real as the woman clawed shakily from her cocoon of ash and dust, gasping for air and grasping for something. Anything. She'd been the closest one to the doorway when the Wall came crashing down, a fact that no doubt had spared her the fate of the rest of her squad. The split second's realization hadn't been enough for Vera to pull anyone else out, but it gave her the half step of distance she needed to allow an eventual escape from the rocky tomb. The last image had been a horrific one, the instant of piercing panic in her sisters' eyes before a curtain of stone fell between them was seared into Vera's memory. The woman gasped desperately as she stood, the chill of that shock competing with the echoing warmth that lingered from Sanguinius' call. Slowly, the spinning world slowed, and her feet found purchase. The silent pleas of her sisters faded into the background, only to be replaced by even more doom and desolation than the woman had thought possible.

Vera Gemini was a dutiful woman. She'd sown her share of blood into the earth in the name of the Imperium.

But this?

This was a graveyard. One larger than even the killing fields of Prospero.

Emperor have mercy.

The woman stumbles forward. One step. Two. The crunch of gravel. Her own. A stranger's.

Fuck.

The woman turned to face her assailant with just enough time to barely sidestep the swing, the ragged metal edge of the ruined weapon scraping across her helmet with a horrible screech. Her hand dips down to graze her thigh, panic rising for a second as she isn't greeted by the familiar feel of her Condemner's grip. Relief returns a second later, however, as the maglock is disengaged with a click, and the Traitor's greeted with a bolt to the cheek a second later.

Unfortunately for Vera, the shot comes too late. The Astarte's next swing had edged him out of the bolt's path, Vera cursing the man's transhuman speed as the strike came too quick and too hard to fully dodge. There would be a burst of colour in the Sister's vision as the blow barely connected with a pauldron, the graze still dropping her limb to the side limply with a jolt of agony.

It would be steelen wings that saved her once again, the tide of battle turned on a feather in a mere instant. Vera had dropped to her knees, the sudden numbness that cloistered her side throwing the woman off balance. Her other arm had already began to rise, bolter in hand and prepared to end the fight, but it wasn't going to be quick enough. The Astartes had seen the opportunity and tried to take it, the broken chainaxe in his massive hands swinging far above his head in search of a killing blow. As the weapon's arc reached its zenith, however, the traitor marine would finally find the himself falling towards the earth instead, carried partly by his own momentum as something fast and heavy darted out from the dust-choked sky and slammed into his visor, hard enough to crack the plating. Electric Eye screeched as it withdrew from its attack, its figure piercing the heavens as it prepared for another pass.

But it was already over. That moment of unbalance was enough. A trail of bullet-holes would suddenly crawl up the fallen Marine's leg, then to his chest as Vera took aim and fired. The short distance between the two ensured that each shot bit flesh. Though the Space Marine had one more heart than the woman, the man's advanced biology didn't seem to do much as a rapid burst of shots turned his chestplate into a crater of gore and cracked ceremite.

Ave Imperator, motherfucker.

Bent, Yet Unbroken​

Seth's call to arms was a distant comfort to Marcus. The roar of battle nearly consumed the Soul Smith's voice and Apothecary had a good hunch that somewhere on the opposite side of the shin he stood near to his brothers were already standing against the coming tides. Finding a brief moment of peace as dust settled and crunch of gravel laden earth remaining at the outer edges of his senses, 'Dark Angel' is able to appreciate his new blade. Heart seizes up realizing that it belonged to no Blood Angel; a glance towards where he found it reveals the headless body of a Captain. Their Captain.

"B-bastards..." Blackshield that had been shot gags and then spews blood into the insides of his helmet. His grenade had been timely and ultimately more lethal than the barrage unleashed by their victims. "Lionite, help me stand." Warrior tried to do so himself, however efforts were impeded by what was likely grievous internal damage and pain that even an Iron Warrior could not stand of his own will. Marcus tears himself away from the sight of Arkon and moves to help.

"Lets move! The Soul Smith calls, and we shall answer!" Herstius booked it through a wall of ash pregnant with wraiths of both dust and apparitions of the Neverborn. Sixth squad's men were without a Sergeant and gravely under strength like so many other units of the Forty-Fourth. Seth and his companions provided a much needed center and they, like so many others, sought him out. Something stole the man's attention though and Astartes made a turn, taking them off the trail and towards Marcus. "There is only one son of the Lion on Terra that I have seen, and he is the only one that cannot hide his secret from all." Coming upon the Apothecary and the wounded he presents his melta-gun towards the breach. Brass flies toward them as another squad of Iron Warriors and Death Guard enter the fray. The braying of bloodied hordes follows them.

Combat bikes tear up the soil and ruptured stone between riders of the White Scars and the staggered guardians of the breach. Kremnar arcs blade through another Iron Warrior and is reminded that the 'Iron Within' bit is entirely proverbial for most. A grenade sails over head, accompanied by the thwump of a launcher unit and the roars of the Khagan's wild riders. They make no mention of retreat and instead tear through the area, blanketing the oncoming traitors forces with bolter fire. A wall of men and women pressed forth by the Iron Warriors moves towards the resistance, legionaries hanging back to take shots of opportunity while softer fodder absorb munitions for them. Har brackets them with what little ammo is left in his hand mounted unit before tearing up chunks of rubble and flinging them towards the real danger in the back.

An explosion rips more skin from the damaged wall. Several missiles skim dangerously close to the blast, coming from behind Kremnar and company. Something whistles close to their location and veteran instantly identifies it as a Earthshaker. Angle of erupting earth seems entirely random to all but the Emperor's siege masters, Kremnar notes that was entirely a hostile shot. Their position has become one big quagmire of artillery targets for both sides.

"Let us hold here! Cover those leaving the walls. It would not do for ourselves to retreat when even the Chogorian rabble actually find their breaks Kremnar!" Another warped disc of rockrete stuck through with rebar shadows the Sternguard before crashing into a World Eater with bared arms and hooked chains trailing from each hand. Verbal responses are lost to the screams of Angron's legion racing headlong into the palace's wounds.

"It's Gloran, Seth." Chief Apothecary corrects the Soul Smith as he moves with what haste he can muster towards Nathiel. Needle burrows into exposed stump and makes itself uncomfortable deep inside of the champion's body before releasing a small ration of stims. Gloran presents a burning rag that might have once been a banner off the wall itself and uses it to cauterize the wound. Five star service among the Iron Warriors. "Walk the rest off Nathiel. I have spoiled you enough as is." Haggard warrior leans into another run and moves to check on the status of their newest arrival: Warsmith Orion lumbers up to them with Odiaus' power spear gripped with white knuckles. Helm has fallen away and the grizzled features of the former Captain are revealed as a mere patchwork of stitches and fresh wounds. He comes alone aside from the hand of some unfortunate traitor still impaled near the grip of his weapon.

Dyzek and Vilhelm arrive shortly, a small band of loyal Iron Warriors is at their side, and outpacing them by a fair degree are mildly less beaten Blood Angels and Imperial Fist who divide their attention between joining the lingering Blackshields and falling back as ordered. The few who bother to remain behind are visibly too wounded to keep pace and seem taken up by the idea of selling their lives to buy others time: it is clear no one expects a bunch of unmarked Astartes to survive the next wave. And with good reason. Hellblades spear through the mist as Bloodletters garbed in scale mail armor and wielding halberds rather than swords charge into the fray. Scattered around and behind them are World Eaters who come on with all the grace and care as Orks.

Many of them vanish in a plume of upturned rubble and fire. Earth shakes all around as Divine Fury grinds up to support them. Vehicles of all stripes and legion colors appear, forming a partition between the breach and the first internal layer of defenses. Rhinos disgorge reserve squads of Imperial Fist into the fray to help cover the retreat and more of the White Scars swift reaction units strike through their lines like pikes over a shield wall to banish entire knots of the enemies vanguard. Even more empty transports arrive to begin ferrying the legion forces back towards the palace. Orion assigns many of their own now unassigned units to aid their cousins, leaving only a handful idling for the surviving Blackshields.

"Iron Master, get to the Gangaresh stationed near the bridges and boost our vox functionality at once. I need something other than screaming and carrier pidgeons to get our warriors falling back. Seth, stay your charge and hold here. Until Vilhelm has communications open I'd appreciate that you keep filling in with suitably uplifting calls to violence and relocation."

Kahrnak finds himself swept up by his passing Sergeant. Two more members of Squad Herchel appear via teleportation, risking the immense likelihood of a mishap to return to the renowned veteran, and their leader's side. A status rune briefly blinks across their HUDs for a Brother Jodus, and just as quickly vanishes as he meets some unknown fate nearby. Heads turn as the small pack of Terminators note the not at all surprising appearance of the World Eaters. Power spears activate, and Brother Hruthstrane hauls a piece of stone off the ground to act as a stand in for missing storm shield.

Ave Dominus Nox Motherfucker thinks the Raptor soaring from his hand hold in the titan's leg and towards the sister below. Hawk screeches and Sister opts to dodge out of there rather than checking what was going on precisely. Night Lord slashes into the ground and twists to kick Electric Eye away from his face while simultaneously sweeping two long knives toward the woman. Condemor peppers traitor but his armor holds a bit better than his last comrade. More Night Lords are landing nearby, and Vera can already hear ample amounts of World Eater patented screaming. Color her surprised when suddenly a great many of Kurze's boys are dead steaming piles of core and bolter aftermath. She thinks that a giant jet bike might have materialized seemingly out of nowhere, but frankly it might of just been a hallucination.

"Up here!" An allied officer she knows only by the name of Akar and a few lovingly crude nicknames among the Blackshields stands with a trio of wounded Astartes wielding an assortment of heavy weapons. Lieutenant himself is firing a plasma gun towards the breach, accompanied by a volkite culverin, a missile launcher, and a plasma cannon. "Get up here. Plenty more layers to this hell to protect just yet."

Kremnar Eranite somehow found himself near where he had been thrown from again, having cut his way back from his flight. Still more bodies of the enemy covered the ground where he stood, and the one arm dreadnought continued to fight. Before the sternguard veteran could comment on Har's refusal to retreat, a band of the Khagan's sons rushed forward on their assault bikes, firing everything and anything that were strapped onto them into the oncoming enemy. Unfortunately, the traitors anticipated this, and thus created a living buffer in the form of their mortal allies, using the men of the traitor Imperial Army in order to soak up as much of the fire as possible while they took potshots from the back.

Kremnar gritted his teeth, both for the lack of munitions on hand for him to fire back properly at the enemy range fighters, but also knowing now that the Chogorians had arrived, any chance for him to convince Har to pull back had been lost; no Iron Warrior would let another legion outdo them in defense, especially a fighting defense. Stubborn fool, he thought to himself with a smile, just like the rest of us. Just as he cut down another World Eater that came unaware of the reach of the power scythe, the sternguard veteran heard the expected response from the dreadnought, who chucked another astartes size piece of rockrete into an actual traitor legionnaire. He was about to respond when the tell tale whistle soared through the air.

"Get down! Artillery fire!" Kremnar would have tackled the dreadnought had he thought he could actually move the massive walker. Instead, he tossed himself behind cover once more, incidentally the same cover he hid behind when he first landed in the area. The earthshaker cannon round smashed directly into the spot where he had dove from, kicking up dirt and causing what little air that had been cleared to fog with debris once more. "If we are to die, I would rather do so with a hand around the enemy's neck, now find some cover before you get blown to bits Har!" he shouted, not knowing if his voice carried over the sounds of the fighting and explosions. Even now, missiles flew over their heads from behind them, the answering volley to the enemy. They weren't just under fire from the enemy now, they were caught between an artillery duel. Great.

The Emperor Protects.

@Colapse

With a quick nod to Gloran, Nathiel looked toward his brother Seth, "You dare push forward without me, brother?! I maybe missing an arm, but my hatred and contempt for these traitorous bastards will more than make up for it!" He then took off in the lumbering charge, that terminators could manage, towards Seth's location. This was the center of the defense for the area and the place where the line would be held. Using wide swings of his thunder hammer, Nathiel would clear a path to his brother and provide all the support he could to ensure the voice of Seth remained heard in the area. And though the banner overhead hung no more, in its place, hanging from the polls, were the heads of slain traitors and a symbol to the loyal in the area that death was all that waited the enemies of the Imperium.

"I like Glorian more, has a heroic ring to it," Seth replied to the Chief Apothecary before hearing Nathiel's comment. "Bah, I would never do such thing Little Brother. You are our Champion after all, you have the honor of leading the charge. Or defense in this case. Although if I die and you survive this battle with only one good arm, I'll haunt the hell out of you!"

Friendly banter on side, the Soul Smith was now addressed by Warsmith himself and he managed to get a bit more serious for him. He smashed Warsong on the rock in front of himself and nodded towards it where it left a burn mark. "Aye Orion, we'll hold them here until Vilhelm either get that vox operational. Nothing including even our treacherous Father's appearance shall move me or our brothers from this place."

Figuring that was enough of a proof of his resolve, he turned around and spotted Dyzek as well. "Brother, where are Marcus and Kremnar? Everyone else is accounted for."

@DeranVendar @Colapse

"They fell, haven't reported in, MIA, KIA, Emperor knows."

Dyzek would reply curtly towards Seth, as he strode past the soul smith, heading for a rhino. If the Warsmith wished to hold here and pick up the stragglers, he'd do what he could to aid, and would join in an Imperial Fists transport, bound out to gather those still making their way back to friendly lines.

With the slam of the door behind him, the Blackshield would survey the transport Bay, noting how it only carried four of his cousins, all that could be spared for this duty. With the tremors of the exploding artillery strikes almost drowning out the sounds of the roaring vehicles engine, Dyzek could only brace himself to strike out, and drag back all those he could get his hands on.

​