Holding Out​

Something whipped past the gathering core of Iron Warriors like a living typhoon. Hair was tossed and vehicles rocked, more smoking bodies were left in the wake of whatever, or whoever, just rode by. Thankfully whatever it was had seen fit to strike down more of the enemy. Orion marches forward to stand with Seth and Nathiel, with little means of actually commanding there is nothing left to do but fight. Traitor army units appear only briefly, many trampled and run down by the charging World Eaters funneling into the gashed wall. Warriors of the fallen IVth and XIVth hung back, letting Angron's horde act like the cannon fodder they seemed so eager to outrun.

Just as the grey haze consuming everything seemed to be clearing the clouds further ahead darkened before Kremnar and co. Flesh stung to the touch of smog crawling across the grounds, what little remained of the Iron Warrior auxilia collapsing and starting to decompose before they even touched the ground. A grave shadow fell over the World Eaters and loyal defenders engaging them. The Death Guard marched free of the coming fog in all their disease ridden glory. Among them were the Death Shroud, protects of the Primarch. Where they tread, Mortarion would not be far away.

"Ever been thrown at a Primarch before, Krem?" Har half-joked as he waded out into the fighting to engage the enemy elite. One of the Death Shroud stepped past the walker and straight towards the Sternguard. Own Man Reaper drawn and ready to rumble.

As the Blackshield slumped against the robed Apothecary, Marcus dragged his patient back a small ways to 'hide' him amongst some rubble, glancing over to see a familliar limping figure - Herstius. He gave little more than a nod as he used his personal narthecium to get the Iron Warrior to a more stable condition. The gunfire in the distance and general warring had not dissuaded him otherwise until a bolt round had skimmed the rocks beside him, causing a slight 'ding' as some rubble scratched over his faceplate.

A slow glance was given to Herstius and a nod was shared between the two companions before he got himself up to his feet. "Tend to him," he said, before jumping over the makeshift cover and rushing into the fray.

Leaving Herstius to tend to that injured Blackshield, Marcus would charge forth with his new blade in hand - one wielded in righteous vengeance - and hacked through a Plague Marine's skull before landing on one of the Traitorous kin of Perturabo. His blade stabbed downwards into the Iron Warrior's throat before he yanked up his bolter from his dying hands, wasting little time in blindfiring the weapon through his whirlwind of destruction, limbs and ceramite plating being strewn everywhere.

He almost hadn't noticed one of the near-dead traitors slumped against a rock raising his weapon before a roaring blast was heard behind him. Glancing over, he'd seen Herstius and a corpse that he could only guess at being a Son of Horus from the colouring of his lower leg. All the same, he gave a nod and (after throwing the boltgun at an oncoming Iron Warrior, causing him to tumble and fall back down the mound of rubble) go over with the blade in hand.

"Remember Zarakath?" He asked with a slight bit of anger in his voice; Herstius certainly knew such anger was not directed at him, of course. "Let's do that in reverse; I fight, you support. If we can get any men on their feet, have them help us get more of them back up; Blood Angel, Imperial Fist, blackshield, whoever."

Whether Herstius followed or not, Marcus would get right back to work; fighting as one of the Emperor's chosen, his new blade in one hand and his bolt pistol in the other, he had only one thing left to say. He was no religious man, and he could seldom understand much of such things. But looking down upon the enemy's endless hordes of monsters, traitors and mutants alike, to see many of his brethren both Blackshield and otherwise limp and injured, some inevitably dying and others able to be saved; he had only one thing.

"FOR THE IMPERIUM OF MAN, AND FOR THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND!"

Dear god; should you exist. Help me save one more.
​

He hadn't wasted time in rushing into the fray now, hacking and shooting as he went; each time looking for one more man and bringing them back no matter their loyalist colours; each time once more thinking this one prayer to himself.

Dear god, should you exist. Help me save one more.​

Kremnar Eranite grunted as another would be Iron Warrior fell, his body bisected by the loyalist's power scythe. He turned just in time to see the sky began to appear once more as the dust kicked up from the wall collapse slowly faded away. However, just as the haze began to disappear, another cloud of smog like feature drifted across the field towards them, and, even as mortals around them dropped left and right, out of the pestilence stepped the elite of the XIV legion. The Deathshroud warriors came out of the thinning but deadly mist, their power scythes rusted and dripping with corrosive and toxic substances. At the dreadnought's words, the sternguard veteran gave another groan in response but said little.

Kremnar knew of the reputation of the Deathshroud, and how at least two must accompany their primarch at all times. Right now, however, he hoped that these particular ones in front of him had been sent out on their primarch's own orders, and not constitute the guard force around Mortarion. Still, the sternguard veteran had little time to ponder such things as one of their numbers sidestepped the advancing dreadnought and headed straight for him. The bulking form of his Cataphractii Pattern Terminator Armour had been tainted into a sickly green, and an unnatural aura of decay around him advanced. Kremnar gripped his own weapon before advancing forward to meet his adversary.

Kremnar could not hope to match the strength of an enemy in terminator armor, especially now visibly corrupted by whatever foul sorcery that beset the rest of their damned legion. Therefore with grim heart, he would shift away from the brute style taught to him by the good Soul Smith, whom he instinctively perceived to be still alive on the field. Someone like Brother Seth couldn't be killed by something so trivial as a wall collapse or even a titan falling on them. Stepping light on his feet, the sternguard veteran would unleash a flurry of offense, utilizing the power scythe in speed and reach likely not seen by many who faced other members wielding the same two handed weapons. The key to this would be to inflict a thousand cuts upon the Deathguard, each upon a previous one, in order to take the body apart, even if it may ignore all pains and weakness.

In the back of his mind, Kremnar knew even if he killed this target, another of his brothers would replace him, over and over until their sheer numbers overwhelm their position. Nonetheless, he would take as many of the enemy with him as possible, as to give the maximum amount of time for those behind them to regroup and reform defensive formations behind the breach. The traitors may pour forth, but they would lack at least a single Deathshroud within their ranks.

There is only the Emperor, and he is our shield and protector.

Kharnak marched with his brothers. He didnt like the idea of retreating, but an order was an order. The sound of the enormous battle that was happening almost made it almost impossible to hear anyhting. The dust cloud had settled by now, and now the sky was visible. Orange scars twisted in it, maybe artillery fire, or low orbit ships in flames. He was only sure of one thing: He would give his life in the fight if necessary.

@DeranVendar


There was barely time for Vera to catch her breath before the next Marine appeared, only Electric Eye's warning cry standing between herself and bisection. The Bolter barks in response immediately, but either her last opponent's armor had been damaged in the fall, or this suit is simply made of meaner stuff, but the effect of the bolts wasn't nearly as gratifying this time around. Vera grimaced as Electric Eye gave yet another squawk. The growing number of dark figures in the artificial gloom around her only confirmed her companion's warning. More Astartes.


Lots more, judging by the growing tide of countless manic voices, baying for blood.


Wonderful.


There was no time to curse her luck, however, as the advancing figures forced the Sister to focus once again. She didn't have a lot of options. With a slight grimace, Vera righted herself and drew bead at the Marine that had first accosted her, and was entirely too close for comfort. The rest, she supposed, would have to wait. Her body tensed as she pulled the trigger, and prepared to dodge.


She was quite literally coloured surprised as the expected attack never came, the looming figure before her instead exploding in a burst of cracked ceremite and shattered bone.


Surprise, as it turns out, has a shocking similar hue to vicera.


Like a bat out of hell, the jetbike emerged from the haze. Its glorious arrival was thankfully accompanied by the angelic choir of heavy weapons fire, the very same that would mow down the vast majority of Vera's immediate problems. Good riddance to the trait--hey, she knew that guy. The woman accepted the hand with a grateful nod, practically scaling the massive machine to find a spot. It was almost relaxing for an instant as Vera sat, catching her breath for the first time in what seemed like an eternity in the comfort of familiarity, but War was a demanding mistress. As soon as the jetbike rose into the air, Vera was offered an excessive view of the carnage she'd escaped, and the woman's thoughts grew somber once more. Those were her Sisters buried there. The woman's mouth pressed into a tight line as her weapon was forgotten for a moment, hands raising instead to form the sign of the Aquila. Her duty was now their absolution. May the Emperor guide her steps.

@DeranVendar

The Breach

The rumbling of the rhino would begin to slow, as Dyzek would raise his head, turning his thoughts away from prayer, back onto the task at hand. Within the compartment, the few Imperial Fists he'd accompanied would be going through final preparations of their equipment, checking bolter magazines, running a quick diagnostic on damaged armour, counting grenades, all they could do to mentally prepare for another drop. To his left, Dyzek stared over at another Blackshield, whom they'd managed to recover from the battlefield. Menelaus would stare back towards Dyzek, his unhelmed eyes burning with an almost divine fire of purpose, his teeth set into a grimace. One of the men that Dyzek had brought into the light of The God Emperor, Dyzek would consider it providence that as one of his proteges had been taken from him, so too had he recovered another. Yet, the blessing of this small mercy would not be easily won, for upon the floor of the transport, corpses lay, armoured in yellow, black, and red. Not one to leave behind equipment, weapons, and most importantly gene seed, The Imperial Fists had fought hard to regain these bodies, to be returned to their brothers. For this, Dyzek would be thankful, yet, looking upon the faces of the dead, he could not help but know sorrow. As the treads of the rhino would slow to an acceptable disembarking speed, the side hatch unlatching it's locks, Dyzek would turn once more to enter into the hellish combat of The Breach.

The doors slammed open, and as one, the astartes would leap into the fray, weapons raised and ready. From each side would come the mix of Imperial Fists and Blackshields, offering support to beleaguered brothers, shaken by the fall. Charging forth, Dyzek would lay his eyes on their targets, a Blood Angel with his winged clipped, a ruined jump pack laying inactive not far from where he fought tooth and nail. The son of Sanguinius, hefting up a mighty exocriator chain sword, moved with a flow around the haphazard strikes of incoming Iron Warrior Assaults, yet even now, Dyzek could see a warrior on the defensive. Rushing into the fray, Dyzek would announce his arrival with the song of his whirling claws, cutting through the air to block an incoming strike from a Power Axe. Twisting his wrist, he'd spin the shaft of the enemy weapon, caught between talons, to redirect the strike towards the ground, as he rammed into the enemy with a shove of his Pauldron. With the incoming force, he forced his enemy back a few steps, as he raised another claw to stab into his torso, yet instead would take a step back as the foe's ally came to his aid, swirling chainswords forcing the Blackshield back. Yet, as his rescuer came forth, the axe armed Iron Warrior could only watch, pulling himself back up into a proper stance, as Menelaus came forth, bringing down a mighty strike of his chain hammer, caving in skull with a splash of ichor and shards of bone, the entire exchange taking only a few beats of transhuman heart.

Dyzek and Menelaus now standing at the sides of the Blood Angel, would prove a more difficult target together then a single straggler, thus causing a moment of hesitation to change tactics among the Iron Warriors. In that moment, Dyzek would shout a single pair of words towards the son of The Angel, hoping that over the explosions of battle around him, he would be heard.

"EVAC, GO!"

With that, Dyzek brought up his claw, already back up, as from his gauntlet, came a torrent of fire, setting ablaze a wall between them and the enemy. Hearing the cries of surprise and pain, Dyzek would begin back peddling swiftly towards where their transport would be circling around to pick them up. Menelaus would be swift behind him, bolt pistol now raised in hand, as the Blood Angel caught on, and dashed from the rear. From the wall of fire, the foe would pursue, the burning promethium blazing away iron plating, yet not halting the lethal intent of those within. Dyzek would bark another swift order, as the assault squad came charging after them, indicating with his head as he'd do so.

"LEFT AND DOWN!"

Diving into the dirt, the astartes, acting on years of training and combat instinct, would hit the ground, as before them, four Imperial Fists would raise up bolters in unison, and unleash a brutal volley into the enemy ranks. Bolt rounds would tear through burning plate, detonating and blowing chunks from transhuman monsters, as the Iron Warrior assault group would be brought down with merciless fire. One of Dorn's ilk would utter a curse against the traitors, as they'd begin withdrawing from their position, Dyzek, Menelaus, and the Blood Angel already back on their feet and running. The destruction of one squad of traitors would be met with righteous joy, no doubt, yet in the battle of the breach, they would swiftly be replaced, as a group of Iron Havocs strode through the embers of Dyzek's fire, raising up heavy bolters to take vengeance on those that stood before them. Dyzek would hear the barrage of fire coming for them, as they moved to enter the rhino transport, a gunner atop the vehicle doing his best to lay down suppressing fire on the hostiles. His steps, so sure and quick, would be interrupted, as Dyzek felt a bolt pierce through his leg, and went down. Crashing into the muck, Dyzek would feel the pain erupting in his knee, a straight shot through just above it's joint making itself know, as he even now struggled to simply crawl to the transport. There was no time, he'd think, he needed to make it now, or be lost in this killing field, another statistic in The Iron Tyrant's records of battle. Cursing his luck, he'd not notice the shadow descending upon him, until a hand grasped at his arm, and heaved him up.

Initially alarmed, Dyzek would note the Blood Angel had simply thrown him over shoulder like a heavy weapon, and kept running for the transport. Shots still came, from both loyalists and traitor, and for a moment, Dyzek sensed his ally taking a series of shots through his form. Yet, with blood dripping from his mouth, and fangs bared, the astartes would push through the pain in arm and hip, before diving for the transport door. Once inside, the vehicle would increase to it's maximum speed, retreating from the ever approaching horde of traitor forces, back towards friendly lines. Within, Dyzek would roll onto his back, before drawing himself up, leaning on the wall for support, as he already felt his biology combating to heal his wound. Surveying about, he saw Menelaus, now bearing fresh wounds from a shot that scored through his shoulder and cheek, yet overall fine, his eyes still blazing with thoughts of retribution. To his side, he saw The Blood Angel, breathing heavily, regarding him with eyes as menacing as Menelaus' own, yet for different reasons. Where he saw hate in the eyes of his fellow Blackshield, here, he saw something different, something altogether more primal, and for an instant, he considered raising his claws. Yet, instead, he'd push the thoughts aside, and would speak instead, giving a quick bow of his head.

"My thanks for your heroism Cousin, you saved me from a grisly fate."

The other warrior's gaze would clear, as he licked his lips, and wiped his face with the back of his gauntlet, letting out an almost hissing sigh. Standing straighter now, his posture bearing the nobility of his Legion, he'd reply in a gruff voice.

"I only return the act you made in coming for me, Blackshield. Know that I, Orlandio, gives thanks to your timely intervention."

With a sheepish grin, the warrior would continue, brushing some fingers through his hair, to clear it of his face.

"I am grateful that I might live to leave more traitor's at my feet for this transgression."

With a nod, Dyzek would only reply with his own soft smile.

"There will be plenty of battles to do just as, Cousin Orlandio."

With this, he'd turn his gaze back towards the Imperial Fists, noting with a pang of sorrow, that one of their number had not returned. Turning his eyes towards their leader, he'd speak.

"Shall we be performing another run, Dominik? I'm sure there are more out there that may require our intervention."

Turning back to face him, Sergeant Dominik of The Imperial Fists would gaze at Dyzek through the helm of his MK III Iron Armour, his words and message enhanced by the snarl of his vox.

"We shall not, no. Those who remain will need to do without us, as I am receiving orders to return to our lines, in preparation to mobilize at the next defensive garrison."

Turning his gaze back towards one of the gunports on the transport, and the echoing sounds of combat outside, it was clear the thoughts of Dominik on this matter, yet the man remained silent. Matching his gaze, Dyzek would speak. somewhat trying to lessen the burden he knew rested upon them all.

"We did what we could, cousin, and by our actions we managed to allow many who would have been slain to be saved. Now we can only hope those who perished bought us the time needed to win this war."

Standing side by side, Son of Perturabo and Dorn would be united in the mutual hatred of the foes that had brought this tragedy to mankind in the first place. Silent in their own contemplation, a close strike of an enemy tank shell would rouse them both from their thoughts, as the Fist replied, with an accepting, yet saddened, sigh.

"For The Emperor." ​

Line in the Ash​

As it turned out Vera's savior was not the jet bike rider. However there was a steed present for them: a Land Raider in the colors of the Blood Angels. Twin assault cannons created a ceiling of brass above the retreating warriors. An Iron Havoc stepped forward and grabbed Vera by an arm, noting her wounded leg, and began helping her up towards the transport; whether that meant dragging or just keeping her upright depended on how quickly she reacted.

"....." Silent as a grave the Shroud member closed with Kremnar. Sternguard looked upon a fellow veteran whose name had been lost to records of a death that never really happened, and an abomination that stood head and shoulders above the likes of Orghast and his ilk. Limbs bloated with layers of dead flesh that bloomed from cracked armor shifted with surprising agility and slashed at the Blackshield. Iron Warrior finds no time to withdraw out of reach and instead thrusts pauldron forward and into the haft. Death Guard hooks blade inwards and Kremnar twists to parry with own scythe. Whatever pattern loyal guardian of Terra wields is visibly smaller and barely holds back traitor's killing edge. Death Shroud hoists up a combi-bolter and aims both barrels at the back of Krem's spine, a well honed kick crashes against the side of the weapon and holds it at bay. With characteristic persistence the heavily armored arm strains against extended leg and begins pushing back into position. By then it is too late and legionary has his out.

Other foot kicks into same arm and both feet press off vaulting Kremnar over his opponent's opposite limb. Hitting the ground flank first Sternguard rolls away from the expected slash that chases him; Man Reaper digging into the earth like a pick in a narrow miss. Rising Kremnar weaves past his opponent, power weapon licking across armor that is at once decayed and masterfully protective again and again. Earth erupts over the pair from a nearby mortar strike. Then blood follows as a World Eater is piked on a White Scar's lance. Then torn up soil and stone once more as Har crashes back in the wake of several direct missile impacts. More Plague Marines wade into the fight alongside the Death Shroud and the plagued mist thickens. Daemons tolling rusted bells and naming Nurgle's countless blights join them shortly after. The enemy is equally numerous and the defenders few.

A laser beam cuts through the mist and strikes one of the heavily armored elite square in the helmet. Shot burns in place for several seconds until traitor at last flinches away, denying him final sight of his killer as a giant of gold enters the fray. Guardian Spear punctures smoking helm and discharges another las-strike at point blank range. Custodian whips weapon free and scythes into one of the World Eaters, spilling his stomachs contents onto the field and passing on to slay a Plaguebearer with a swipe that sends head flipping back into the rest of the chanting mob. Lion among men brings more than death, and the faded yellow of Dorn's sons appears on armored forms in the miasma. Bolters discharge into the hated foe and cries go out for survivors of the collapse to continue falling back.

"Look fast Dark Angel!" A Blackshield that does not recognize one of their own in the chaos braces his arms against Marcus' shoulder and fires double barreled bolt pistol at a World Eater carrying an Excoriator. Apothecary turns and disrupts the shot, flipping Arkon's blade in hand and thrusting it back. Traitor is run through and sword pulled free and leaned back up against a piece of rockrete the size of three Rhinos. Wounded warrior joins weapon as Marcus firmly holds him in place so that Brother Iroklos does not get it in his head to interrupt battle field surgery once more. Shrapnel clinks to the ground, hastily abandoned by a wound previously refusing to seal up due to their presence. With a reassuring pat Marcus passes the wounded man off to Herstius whom in turn guides him into the arms of another squad mate that begins escorting them towards the Soul Smith's foothold.

Blade threads deadly traces of silver through the air as a Night Lord stalking the wreckage lurches over a mountainous leg and descends on his jump pack. Traitor, sans both hands, crashes against the ground. Power sword splits helmet between both lenses and skewers brain before Apothecary is off once more, vanishing with a flourish of his robes. It is an Imperial Fist that receives his mending next, incredulous legionary leaves comments about the futility of lingering near the breach to himself and only gives them a half nod before supposed Lionite shuttles him into the arms of Herstius. Nothing needed said for Marcus to read patient's thoughts: he had already heard them from other more vocal members of the various legios falling away from the ruined walls. A fools errand and waste of resources that would be better spent healing those not seemingly destined to die in the unstoppable tide of their advancing foes. Marcus snuffed these thoughts from his head as he did the lives from those threatening his patients.

"I am an Iron Warrior, Seth. Just because we are the good ones does not suddenly mean that heroism and romanticism befits us." Gloran punched Narthecium into Orion until a vial of stimulants had been drained. Empty vial cycles out and Chief Apothecary is already in the move, only briefly faltering mid-step when several Custodes, all heads taller than any of them, sprint past and pounces into the fray. Guardian Spears turn a vanguard of Red Butchers into butchered, blood red heaps. While Vilhelm toils trying to get their communications boosted the powerful voice of Terra's Preatorian catches their ears.

"AWAY FROM THE BREACH! REACTIONARY FORCE THIRTY-EIGHT IS ROTATING IN! THIS IS A DIRECT ORDER FOR ALL ETERNITY GARRISON UNITS TO FALL BACK AT ONCE!"
​

Who were Herchel and Karhnak to argue with a Primarch? They had no bearing on Seth aside from his yelling and they were already mired in World Eaters. Power spears, thunder hammer, and power axe dispatch multiple of the berzerkers before encirclement is broken by the sudden arrival of a White Scar jet bikers and Imperial Fist Land Speeder teams. Field awash with fresh impacts the battered squad of Terminators continue the retreat.

"You are a sour fucker, you know that Gloran? But martyr's death aside, even I'm not that suicidal to remain here in the open and get bogged down in traitor bodies. It would be a stupid death, not achieving much except preventing my good looks to keep on reminding the rest of our brothers just who is the luckiest son of Iron of them all," Seth replied, turning for a second to watch Custodes go to work. "They have some flair, I'll give 'em that, but they are too precise, too clean for me."

Shrugging the thought, the Soul Smith once again put his speakers to maximum and started shouting. "TOO ME REFORGED ONES! YOU HEARD LORD DORN'S ORDERS BUT WHEN DID WE CARE MUCH WHAT SOME IMPERIAL FIST THINKS!? MOVE IN FORMATION AND KEEP ON KILLING THE TRAITORS, MAKE THEM BLEED FOR EVERY INCH THEY TAKE! WE LEAVE NO ONE BEHIND!"

Withdrawl

"The Imperial Fists shall head the call of The Praetorian of Terra."

Dominik would speak, his voice powerful and commanding, towards the few men remaining in his squad, battered and damaged, yet unbroken in spirit. Each one would slam up their hands, in the sign of the Aquila, intoning in a somber, yet determined voice.

"Primarch-Progenitor, to your glory and the glory of The Emperor."

With this brief statement finished, Dominik would step off from the Astartes under his command, to come standing before the three others that dwelt within his transport. Dyzek, Menelaus, Orlandio, each would be set aside from the yellow clad crusaders of Dorn, tending to their gear, and doing battlefield maintenance on bother weaponry and injury. Looking up from where he worked, Dyzek would stash away his two grenades, and pistol magazines, to speak with the approaching Fist.

"A rousing speech, for a Son of Inwit."

To this, he'd get a simple reply, devoid of any mirth.

"Would you believe I'm seen as the chatty one."

That earned a small chuckle from The Blackshield, as he'd flex his fingers, knowing what would come next. The Imperial Fists were dutiful and disciplined, and if they had heard a command, Dyzek knew from reputation alone they would see that command done. It was honestly one of the traits he'd come to admire in the VIIth Legion, in their drive to perform the task at hand, the lack of bitterness that had infected his own legion made all the more apparent by their willingness to bear the burden. His laughter would die on his lips, as he'd resolve once more that they would not walk that road ever again, that this corruption would never take hold once more, they would be better then that. However, maintaining his soft smile, Dyzek reply curtly towards the ally from another legion.

"You'll be wishing to load up with your brothers then, and make haste to your next position."

"Indeed."

He couldn't fault the man for his blunt nature, for again, there was something to be admired about it. Dominik had his objectives, and he'd complete them no matter what was needed. That this meant Dyzek and his kin would need to disembark was no personal statement, but only business, another task to be completed to win the day. Nodding his head, he'd wave over Menelaus, the man seemingly fully engorged with meticulously cleaning all the grit from each chained tooth from his hammer, to come and listen to their next step forward. Orlandio, to his surprise, was already at his side, the giant of a man standing with an almost bored gait, yet his eyes betraying the focused intent on the Imperial Fist. Seeing them gathered, Dominik would begin to speak, his tone betraying no emotions or personal thoughts on the matter.

"We shall be ferrying more of our brothers back, in light of the casualties we've taken in this battle. To that end, we will be dropping you off at your designated rally zones, before moving along. As it would be impractical to ask of you, our men shall guard your dead, and see to it that they be returned as quickly as possible."

He any other spoke of that last statement, Dyzek might have protested, for it never was good to let the dead dwell with another legion. But with the Imperial Fists, he could see it was just a matter of efficiency, and even if they would be ambushed and fighting past the point of exhausting ammunition and chains for their swords, the corpses and their gear would remain untouched. Thus, Dyzek would nod in agreement, mirroring the acknowledgment of the Blood Angel. Dominik, satisfied, would turn and begin walking back to the driver's chamber of the vehicle, speaking once more through his vox as he strode off.

"The light will turn green once we are in position, at that time, you will disembark."

_____

Dyzek and Menelaus would wait for perhaps three minutes, before an announcement would be heard.

"Drop zone approaching, prepare to deploy."

Looking over at the light within the chamber, Dyzek would note that while it was still red, the rhino hadn't even begun to slow. In a moment, a smile of understanding would form upon his lips, as a laugh would escape. Looking over to his fellow Blackshield, he'd smile.

"Come Menelaus, time to make our exit."

Striding over towards the rear hatch, Dyzek would press a single command key, before a hiss would sound out, and gears would begin to crank. The ramp would drop with a clang, dragging on the ground behind it, making a trail and providing a window to the war beyond the confines of the transport. Explosions, gunfire, screams and death, it was all still there, yet for now atleast, it was partially at bay. Taking one moment to offer a handshake to the remaining Blood Angel, Dyzek would look at Menelaus, before he'd leap free, laughing as he was launched from the bay.

Rolling into a crouch, somewhat battered about, yet perfectly fine, Dyzek would thank his transhuman constitution, before rising up, and surveying the area. All about, he'd see Blackshields of his 44th brothers making their way about in preparation to withdraw. A line was being made, and at it's forefront, would be Seth, who, shockingly, would be shouting glory and duty to those around him. Shaking some of the dirt from his armour, as he shook his head, Dyzek would begin charging off to link up with the rear of the line, where he knew he'd find some modicum of command.



​

Kremnar Eranite gritted his teeth together even as his power scythe deflected its tainted counterpart, just enough that it didn't take off his arm. The Deathshroud moved with alarming speed considering his Cataphractii Pattern Terminator Armour, and while he didn't out pace his artificer armour wearing opponent, he certainly moved quick enough to post a serious threat. Only when they started fighting one another did the sternguard veteran notice the extended reach of his opponent's weapon compared to his, due to the larger size fit for a warrior in tactical dreadnought armour. The decaying flesh bursting from the gaps in the enemy's armour did little to slow or lessen the strength of the Death Guard's attacks, and it was all he could do just to parry and deflect what blows that came his way, dodging when he couldn't.

In comparison, the Deathshroud had met Kremnar's attacks with indifference, either blocking them completely and directly or taking the hits and allowing his armour and flesh to sustain the damage. However many pieces he managed to cut off, the elite unit from the XVI legion continued, unaffected in the least by the damage sustained in the combat. Throughout the battle, the Death Guard had been silent in the engagement, and the sternguard veteran returned the sentiment. If the enemy's power scythe didn't attack, then the combi bolter attached to his wrist would direct its barrel at him, aiming to kill the blackshield with a burst of its deadly content. Once more this happened, and only with a swift kick did Kremnar manage to hold the limb off long enough for him to vault over the arm and power scythe on the other side.

Tucking and rolling, Kremnar swore he felt the air part near his spine as the Deathshroud's power scythe's blade chased him, cutting apart the ground in its arc to strike the loyalist down. Coming back up to a fighting position, he ignored the artillery barrage the came a little too close, kicking up dirt once more that showed the two combatants. Still, the sternguard veteran focused mainly upon his target and within his immediate vicinity, the details of what transpired beyond blurry and undetailed. He noticed that Har had been strike with several missiles, but the dreadnought would have to fend for himself now, as each of them would enter immortality together. Kremnar could see several more Death Guards and their abominations approaching behind the Deathshroud and he readied himself for when their sheer numbers would take him, and oblivion soon afterwards.

Just as another Death Guard moved in with his blighted chainsword in an overhead strike, what looked to be an incredibly powerful las beam struck his arm, melting it at the point of impact and allowing the weapon to fall to the ground with the severed limb. Right after, the reacting Kremnar watched in awe as the blade of a guardian spear sliced the corrupted astartes from hip to shoulder, before its owner turning to another foe nearby. The gold armor of the legendary Ten Thousand gave him pause for just a moment, before he remembered where he was, and instantly jump back. The Deathshroud's power scythe came within inches of taking his head off, and the sternguard veteran refocused himself onto the fight at hand, now heartened by the presence of the Emperor's personal force fighting along side them.

Kremnar knew in his hearts that with their arrival, the situation had changed drastically for them. This had, in a single moment, changed from a zealous but ultimately delaying last stand into a fighting defense that could actually see those loyal to the Emperor survive. As he parried another blow from the Deathshroud's power scythe and send his own weapon's attack forward, the sternguard veteran could hear bolter fire and the cries of Dorn's sons from the edge of his sense. The words came unclear to him as his focus locked upon the terminator in front of him, but something about a retreat crawled into his mind from his auditory track. A grim smile came upon the blackshield behind his helmet, even if he wanted to, to withdraw would mean his certain death at the hands of the Death Guard in front of him, while allowing the traitor to continue fighting. The latter was unacceptable.

Thus Kremnar continued his offense while utilizing his speed as much as possible. He had regretted not being able to train more with Sarge; he had seen the way the astartes moved with his lightning claws, and he could use some of that swiftness at the moment. Still, the fight had imparted much upon him, and the sternguard veteran now utilized moves and attacks against his opponent that mere moments ago had been unknown to him, albeit a bit less smooth than the Death Guard. Shifting his grip closer to the blade head, he sliced upward in a tight uppercut, aiming the slice from groin to chin of the enemy. Just as his attack passed, either hitting or failing, Kremnar would bring the other end of the power scythe up, either as a defensive measure to deflect any incoming blow or to create some distance between himself and his opponent. However, the voice of one Rogal Dorn blared into his helm, the signal amplified by some nearby source. Another grim smile; there would be no retreat, at least not while the Deathshroud still lived.

Only in death does duty end.