@Maensith

The sounds of tearing metal would draw Santana's attention, as he'd swiftly halt his run, turning to face the oncoming beserkers, gripping his bolter as he raised to sight two more of the Blood God's slaves. By The Emperor, they were swift, as the Space Marine knew he'd only have a few shots before he'd need to engage them in close quarters once more, the ache in his side pulsing in response to the thought. As he'd press his finger against the trigger of his weapon, the shrieks started, ghostly and alien, his helm adjusting his audio receptors to damped the noise. From above, the figures of the Eldar warriors would come into view, engaging the traitor marines, as Santana recognized the stylized combat of their Banshee units, feeling his deep seated hatred of the xenos welling up. He watched the dance of the pack, moving like the wind around the strikes of the brutal brethren to his Space Marines, targeting runes forming upon them as they moved. For a moment, he'd consider simply opening up, as it would be so simple. The dance would be shattered, the khornates would gain a moment to assault the eldar, and he'd have a chance to bring The Emperor's judgement to the melee with his holy bolter. A targeting rune forming, he's narrow his gaze beneath his helm, clenching his grip tighter upon the weapon.

Yet, with a grit of his teeth, he'd relax his stance, letting out the breath he'd been holding, and watching as the alien fighters finish off the bloody warrior. As this occurred, he blink opened a vox channel that came from the guardsman he'd left in charge of the mess hall defense, bringing him troubling news. Sensors indicated that the enemy would soon be upon them, and battle would begin. Telling the man to forget sealing the eastern entrance, he'd offer words to steel his heart, and promise him, the Blood of Dorn would be with him and his men this day. With that finished, his attention returned to the Eldar, to find that all five now stared at him. His bolter raised, he'd not flinch in the face of these odds, for if the cur wished to slay him, they'd find he was quite far from simply offering up his life easily.

The voice of their leader would break the tension in the air, lowering it to more tolerable levels. His words reeked of the typical arrogance attributed to his kind, yet, with the lowering of their blades, Santana would do enough to offer the same respect, bringing his bolter down, removing his aim. As the xeno spoke, Santana would indeed memorize the names, to be sure to know whom had infested this ship. With this in mind, he'd give s grunt, before replying.

"The defensive position is down this corridor, past a single doorway, leading into a vast chamber. If you indeed have come to aid, then you will follow me in this direction, but you will not enter the room. You will stay in this place, looking to divert some of their forces to your blades, and you will not enter the field of fire for the soldiers I fight alongside. The room is mined and I have neither the means nor the time to grant you the knowledge needed to navigate the field. In addition, the soldiers will need to focus on slaying the beasts of Khorne, and I will not tolerate your distractions. If you have come to aid, you will abide by these commands, and if you care not to be talked down to by a primitive, I care not. The clock is ticking, and in moments, brave men and women will face daemons, and I will stand at their side, so you may either fall in line, or you may take your trickery elsewhere, it makes no difference to me."

With all the time he could spare spent, Santana would ignore any retort from the Eldar, before turning and charging off. He had a battle to fight, and the machinations of the deceivers could wait until after one enemy of man was purged.​

Sabios was still adressing the bridge as the videofeed from the Necron vessel proceeded to transfer data. The Necrons had found the device. Sabios squinted his eyes and examined the wraithbone construct. Lying would not do him any good, because he had thrown it and they might have watched that. On the other hand no one else in the vicinity was known for associating with Eldar.
"That is an Eldar construct. I apologize for the way it was brought onto your ship, but I feared that you would reject it, if I gave it to you openly. It was given to me from the Eldar to prevent the spread to the flayer virus aboard your ship. At least that was what I have been told. For the minions part, we are associates. Both have tasks in the plan and much to gain." *Just like the relation between you and me, although you would order your ship to fire, if I mentioned that.*
"The explosive is for the case, if the Eldar miscalculated and their device would have a negative effect or none at all. I could not just ask, if you had a wraithbone construct that does not belong onto your ship lying around , could I. An infiltration of your ship just to retrieve the device would be sucidal."
*If we would be detected, that is.*
"As you can ascertain the explosive is not strong enough to damage anything except the device. Are any other questions open?"
Sabios did not show it, but he was getting jumpy. This talk was not moving along fast enough. Tandreus could take care of the humans without help, but he was certainly waiting for them to arrive so they all could set sail towards their first objective. The condescending of the Necrons did their part, too.

Before the smoke had even cleared, lasgun fire would begin pouring into the Berserker’s ranks, seemingly at random. Cherno only watched numbly as the row of guardsmen before her fired their lasrifles, still too shocked by her own encounter with the foe to think. She could feel her comrades’ discomfort at her gory state and appearance as she stood, loaded and ready in the room’s second row of defenses. The Wrecking Crew’s blood-soaked overcoats had interrupted the otherwise pristine state of the soldiers, and with them had come a nervous buzz that shot through the guardsmen much quicker than the sergeants could react. But her own hands, unlike some others, would not shake as she awaited the enemies’ approach.

As the berserkers’ figures burst through the wall of smoke and began to return fire, the first line of riflemen would scramble back and beyond her row of scattered meltas, flamers, and laspistols to join the last rank of defenders perched atop the officer’s dining area. Despite her usual attitude in battles, Cherno couldn’t help but aim and fire at their assailants in a merely mechanical manner as they charged, barely noticing the way their bolsters bucked and wreaked havoc amongst the loyalists.

For some reason, it was hard to feel much with a coat of Sergei on her gas-mask.

Hell, it was hard to think about much else.

Their position hadn’t been far from the mess hall, and the team worked hard and fast, but clearly that wasn’t enough. Amidst their already deafening surroundings, the Wrecking Crew seemed to have no time at all before the warriors were upon them. Cherno didn’t really figure out what she was expecting yet, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. Some bizarre blend of demon, man, and machine that seemed to bear the slimmest resemblance to an Astartes at first glance. If it weren’t for Hot-Rod’s unrelenting “OPEN UP!” Ringing in her ears, Cherno probably would’ve froze in place. Instead, the Guardswoman steeled her nerves, gritted her teeth, motioned for her firing partner to get clear, and lined up a shot. The shock of the situation probably helped, as Cherno barely had the time to mumble a prayer to the Emperor before she fired, much less fear afraid.

It was a wonder she didn’t hit the Astartes that almost seemed to appear out of nowhere, the way he was swaying around. She’d seen them in action before, the Space Marines, back on Armegeddon, but never like this. They’d called them Angels of the God-Emperor, and that’s all they’d ever been to Cherno. They were the bastions of hope and courage, of course, but for humanity. For the Imperium. For something greater.

This time, she counted.

It was a heartwarming moment, really–Cherno felt her usual rush of adrenaline as fury shot through her mind. These may not be orks, but they were a threat to the Imperium all the same. Her Imperium. The woman would feel a swell of pride as her shot slammed home, dragging a howl of pain from a crippled beast. Here she was, fighting alongside one of the Emperor’s Angels themselves. That’s it, you son-of-a-bitch. Drag your crimson ass out of this hallway and

What’s this red paste?

The blast hadn’t been enough to jostle Cherno around too bad, but the sudden obstruction of her vision certainly phased her a little. She stumbled slightly from the proximity of the explosion, and automatically reached out a hand to brace against the wall but was rudely interrupted by an iron grip on her collar dragging her backwards. Over the ringing in her ears, the guardswoman barely recognized Hot-Rod’s commands of “FALL BACK! TO THE MESS HALL!” As she stumbled along the hallway, occasionally assisted by a push from behind when she threatened to falter. What was happening? Weren’t they winning? The confusion wouldn’t subside until the squadron finally reached their objective and Cherno was hastily shoved into position by a nervous Cadian. For a moment, the guardswoman remained too busy with wiping her gas-mask to register the gasps of shock and horror around her, but the truth was pretty difficult to deny when sinew hung off your fingers like string.

Ah, there was Sergei.

Cherno watched now as the bobbing tides of demonic helmets charged through the room, hindered, but not stopped by their hasty barricades. Las fire still bit into their ranks regularly, but still Cherno knew that it would be her turn soon. Close quarters combat was dangerous, but comfortable. It was, of course, her job after all.

One she intended to complete at that.

The faintest hint of a snarl would contort the guardswoman’s face, but that was enough. She’d cracked. With a roar, Cherno would set upon the enemy with thricefold rage, each shot of her weapon accompanied by some sort of curse. She’d liked Sergei, and now they’d trade their lives for his.

Square deal.

@kanila

"Use light weapons to bring down the sacrificed imperials, hold heavy weapons until the real foe reveals itself!" Tandreus shouted and rushed through the doorway. Agrinalia was easily outpacing him and deliberately slowed her advancement so that they were running along side each other.

"What's your plan, human? You do realize that Blood God's servants cant be kept at bay by ranged fire for long?"

"Yes, I know, we just need to get a clear sight of their forces and get rid of that damn living shield!"

Two of them quickly descended into the hangar where deafening sounds of cries, explosions and shooting accompanied the bloody chaos. Rackham's forces were gunning down their own former crew members by dozens with the Lord Commissar roaring inspirational encouragements, orders and threats to his subordinates - he hasnt changed at all since their last meeting, Tandreus thought briefly - the same fervent and ruthless servant of the Emperor ready to feed his entire crew into the warp's maws and go there for himself if only to perform his "holy" duty. The hangar's floor was litted with sprawled bodies, some of them dismembered by the defenders' fire and some are nothing more than a bloody mess of charred flesh and bones. Agrinalia snorted with disgust and sprinted to her squads who were firing their shuriken pistols from behind the barricades - light-armoured banshees had no hope to survive in devastating barrage unleashed by the imperials towards their naked charging kindred and so melee engagements were delayed for a more suitable time.

Tandreus vaulted over the barricade to see his squad scanning the pouring smoke for their real targets. "Anything?" Tandreus asked changing his helmet's visor to another mode and received a negative reply. "There! Target that scum!" Tandreus shouted as he spotted a massive shadowed silhouette moving in the smoke amongst the naked imperials, cutting them down as they crossed his path. Then another silhouette appeared, and another, and another, spilling in tiny rivulets - the khornates werent some stupid cretins to storm head-on the foe who had superior numbers and heavy artillery with it.

"Intercept them, quickly!" Tandreus commanded and sprinted towards the khornates coming from the left. Before he could make out what they intended to do first Chimeras detonated in thunderous explosions as several khornates with melta-guns approached the tanks. Tandreus received a warning from one of his legionnaires and glanced to the right where a massive bulk of enemy forces was slowly revealing itself - they were at least several dozens, no less, moving in phalanx formation like legions of the Roman Empire on the Old Terra. Three Terminators moved behind the main forces and in front of them marched a truly gigantic creature, fully a head taller than them - the warband's leader finally revealed himself. The armoured bodies of dozens of khornates were studded with still alive naked imperials like some foul decorations, used as additional living shields. Some of the monstrosities bore the salvaged armour of their fallen brethren in left hands like huge shields protecting them from incoming fire. They strode confidently at the defenders, stomping the crying naked wretches beneath their feet and firing devastating barrage of return fire at the imperials, reducing guardsmen to bloodied mess of armour and flesh.

"Suppress the assailants! Heavy weapons open fire now!" Tandreus shouted into his helmet's vox and his legionnaires bearing las-cannons and heavy bolters opened fire.


@Jammysod

The Shadowseer changed her appearance again, this time to one of regular khorne berserkers and shook her head, "not now, human, we need the current disguises for now - we are going to approach the enemy from behind and infiltrate their ranks once again." With that said both of them entered the lift and began to descend - they still needed to reach the armoury and this task itself wasnt an easy one

Victus took a moment to take stock of his equipment as the lift started descending, despite his radical change in appearance his equipment just looked like a more Chaos influenced version of what he already had. The mark of Khorne was crudely painted onto his knife in blood and etchings of flaming skulls adorned his Infernus Pistol, foul parodies of the wargear he normally carried into battle. "When we get to the armoury there's something else I'll need to retrieve. A sniper rifle, very large, very heavy. You can't miss it." Victus had left the rifle in the ship's armoury the very same day he first boarded the Sword of Orion as its extra bulk only served to make navigating the ship's halls more awkward outside of combat, now he wished that he had suffered the inconvenience so he could have the weapon by his side once again.

There was a hydraulic hiss as the elevator came to a stop. While there was no one in the immediate vicinity when Victus stepped off the elevator to look around the sounds of power armoured boots marching along and the war cries of Chaos could be heard all around and Victus and the Harlequin were still several hundred meters away from their destination. Even with these disguises this was going to be no easy task...

Cries of the dying and tortured souls echoed throughout the hangar over the sounds of weapons fire. The tides of screaming loyalists scarred by the forces of chaos died by the dozens only to be replaced by more! As it seemed the naked mass of bodies was thining a mass explosion rocked the hangar as one of the chimeras burst into a large fireball from several concentrated melta blasts. A dozen guardsmen had been caught in the explosion either died instantly or added to the screams that filled the chamber, as some writhed in pain as they rolled around on fire from the blast. Others still tried to crawl from the wreckage, pierced by shrapnel and other pieces of the once noble chimera. Medicae scrambled to save the ones they could as Sergeants killed the ones who were unable to be saved to end their pain.

"OPEN FIRE WITH ALL HEAVY WEAPONS!" Roared the Lord Commissar. Heavy Stubbers, autocannons, multilasers, and heavy bolters barked to life laying waste to the front row of their true enemy. The few remaining meat shields exploded in gory visceral rain that showered both the defenders and attackers alike. A dozen khornate berserkers died in the first volley, but the redtide seemed near endless and was fast approaching the front ranks of the defenders. Sergeants were preparing to fall back to the next line of defense as one of the sentinels took a direct hit from a meltagun, the pilot screamed in agony as the metal around him melted and sealed him into the machine. The sentinel wobbled as the pilot attempted to escape his fiery death, but only resulted in it toppling over, collapsing onto a barricade, trapping a squad underneath. The squads cries of pain and torment didn't last long as the super heated metal slagged off burning them alive before the power cell exploded, leaving a large hole in the barricades.

Rackham rushed towards the gap in the barricade as most squads began falling back to the second line of defenses. One squad seeing the Lord Commissar rushed back to assist. As they reached the breach the first berserkers burst through. The first khornate berserker died from the shear amount of point blank las fire, but that did not halt their advance as three more cleared the wall in the space of a heartbeat! They began cleaving through the squad of guardsmen sending sprays of blood, bone and armor all over the area! "Back to the warp you foul beasts!" The Commissar lunged forward piercing through the weak spot where the traitor's neck was. The power Saber crackled as the traitor's blood popped and boiled from the power field. As he withdrew the Saber another of the khornates attempted to bring down his chain axe on Rackham's head. Rackham was spared at the last moment by the guard Sergeant as his own chain sword met the axe. It took all of the Sergeant's strength to halt the chain axe from cleaving down through both of them. With grunts of exertion, he had to use both hands to push the axe back. With a brief nod of thanks the Lord Commissar fired a super heated bolt of plasma into the berserker's skull, which instantly disappeared.

As the loan survivor of the squad and the Lord Commissar recovered from the attack the other two berserkers moved forward laughing behind their vox grates, thinking the fight was over as they could easily dispatch a Sergeant and Commissar. The two toyed with the loyalists, "Where is your Emperor now worms! The corpse Emperor can't save you!" The pair easily knocked aside the attempts from the Sergeant and Lord Commissar to keep them at bay. Standing their ground for what should have been their final stand the Sergeant and Lord Commissar began to rush the berserkers when a hail of concentrated bolter fire ripped the Khornate Berserkers to ribbons. One of the Alpha Legion squads had advanced to seal the breach and arrived just in time to save the pair of loyalists from a suicide charge. (@Maensith ill leave off here, it's up to you if the 'Primarch' is with them now or it's just a regular squad)

Remaining Khornate Berserkers: 248

Akhenhotep had slumped into his throne when rebuked by Okantakht, thinking of what he'd given the Phaeron over the centuries. Legions of peasants and squadrons of ships had gone to the other necron, traded in return for some pieces of very devastating weaponry, but apparently that relationship wasn't accomodating enough to let him ask a simple, single request.

[OOC: Sorry for lateness.]

Okantakt had enough. His patience was on its last leg, and he had finished his calculations regarding the situation at hand. He had no further need to associate with this honourless creature. For now.

"The only thing left for you is to provide the coordinates. All actions regarding your potential punishment is in the hands of the Overlord you foolishly tried to use. "

The human should be able to tell who he was talking about.

"I accept your proposition. Hidden agendas and other machinations that stand in our way will be appropiatly punished, the progress of this quest will not be affected. Any artifacts of necron origin will stay in necron hands. "

The Marine had said that he had no real data on the artifacts, but considering the sector of space and all other variables the probability was increasing that Okantakht knew the owner of this "artifact". He would have to collect the data he needed from the Eldar. Not a pleasant prospect.

@RuinaImperii @Maensith

Part 1/2

With the Eldar slime pushed from his thoughts, Santana would steel himself for the battles to come, as he barreled down the corridor, coming towards the eastern doorway, as he felt the tremor of the enemy explosive smashing it's way through the southern entrance. As the doorway opened before him, he'd hear the whirling of the chain axes, the war cries of the enemy coming forth, and the orders being barked by the defending guardsmen. Swiftly surveying the area, he'd give thanks that the eastern doorway placed him within thirty feet of the Officer's dining area on the northern side of the chamber. That it spanned well over a hundred and sixty feet, to accommodate the vast numbers of those who'd use it, would grant Santana a chance to rejoin the defensive position before the attack came. With this in mind, he'd load up the mine field placement plan he'd given the sergeant he'd left in charge, and begin navigating his way back through the barricades to reach the gun line of the soldiers.

He heard the air crackle, fizz and roar with the shots being traded between the two forces, las shots lighting up the air, while the charging berserkers fired back with bolt pistols. A cry went out, coming from the imperial side, as the first casualty was felt, a man falling to the ground, a bolt shot having torn his left arm right from his shoulder. He was one of the lucky ones, as within seconds, three more dropped dead, more accurate fire piercing the torso and ripping them apart from within. Yet, the sheer volume of firepower being leveled against the brutes would be felt, as the traitor marines, charging right into the gunfire, would be hammered again and again with las bolts, the momentum of their charge only further slowed by the barricades they'd need to smash through. The first berserker died as he came charging through the southern doorway, the guardsmen pouring fire onto their singular target, trying to stem the tide. Yet, with his death, came a giant in crimson clad, each step sending a rumble through the metal floors. Santana had seen suits of Terminator armour from his own chapter, ancient, mighty, and filled with the dignity of the chapter, and in it's own way, the suit this beast wore inspired a same level of awe. Horns jutting from it's pauldons, a seemingly ever dripping stream of blood running from various joints, the iconography of a fallen legion imprinted upon it's chest, with various kill marks, trophies and totems gathered from an eternity of war, the champion struck an imposing figure, striding out, his face bare to the world, teeth filled into points, juts of bone plating covering his forehead, and cheeks, ritual tattoos upon his visage, eyes of burning hatred glaring at the soldiers he intended to slay. As he took the field, the volume of las fire focused solely upon him, despite Santana's attempts to order otherwise. The suit of armour soaked up the damage, it's plate laughing off the focused fire of dozens of shots that landed upon it, as the wearer strode confidently forward, his terror grasping the full attention of the shooters.

As this occurred, from behind more and more renegade marines flooded out, using this break in fire to charge forth against the defenders, finally garnering the attention of the soldiers, as the Champion in terminator armour let loose a booming roar, which was echoed by those who marched alongside him. Santana, leaping over the final barricade, to join the line of soldiers on the other side, would look up to see his selected sergeant attempting to keep some fire discipline amongst the guardsmen. Calling out targets for the various squads, he'd bark orders into his vox, pointing and shouting and shooting, all to the best of mortal ability, much to Santana's approval. Perhaps, if the direction and drill was maintained, there could be a chan-

He heard a sound of something whirling through the air, moments before his eyes turned and locked upon what caused it. Letting out a curse, he'd attempt to fire a shot to intercept the airborne attack, yet, much to his fury, there was no time. The massive sword, flung forth by the strength of the terminator champion, spun through the air like a razor, before coming at it's intended target. Calling out orders, trying to do his job, the sergeant didn't notice the threat until he saw the men around him drop, turning just in time for the power sword to slice into him head on. The blade, still glowing in it's field, cut into his flesh, bisecting him down the center, barely slowing before passing onwards, stabbing into the far wall, coated in the blood of the mortal. His two halves, standing for a moment, would drop without a word, causing fear to spread among those who had just seen their leadership to casually destroyed. The shots from the upper tier of guardsmen grew more panicked, and Santana, seeing this from the fire received on the enemy charging towards him, knew something must be done.

Explosions would boom out, interrupting his thoughts, as the first mine detonated in the field of fire. The berserker, having tripped a mine designed for anti-tank purposes, would be obliterated in the blast, the force knocking and injuring those around him, howls of fury sounding out. This first explosion was soon joined by more and more, as the deeper the enemy breached through the barricades, the more they triggered the mines in place by the guardsmen, a mix of anti-infantry gained from the Cadian squads, and the anti-armour from Armageddon's forces. The result was stunning to behold, each mine earning atleast one kill back, and often causing more wounds to those around, shooting shrapnel and fire out, smashing the enemy to the ground, making for easy pickings for the marksmen above. By the time they'd hit the fifth barricade, more than halfway across the mines, Santana had counted sixteen kills as a result of the explosives, slaying the most bloodthirsty, and eager of their number, in addition to injuries caused by those who had been injured as a result of their allies detonating the mines to close to them. The volleys of las-fire, combined with the occasional streak of plasma, had slowed the advance of the Khornates, killing off their most berserk, and forcing the remainders to take some caution in their advance.

And yet, it would not be enough, Santana saw, popping up out of cover to fire a trio of shots towards the enemy. He'd see how they moved now, picking off the big targets, hearing a cry as a melta wielded dropped to the ground dead, and a burst of energy, followed by screams, as a plasma gun's coils were ruptured. The traitors advanced, steadily moving, careful of the mines laid, soon they would be close enough to simply butcher the mortals. Santana needed to consider the final option, for if the enemy reached the guardsmen, it would be a slaughter. They needed all hands to defend this ship, and while they had reaped a tall here, more than half of the enemy killed, this was only a fraction of the forces they would face across the ship. Santana, having kept up a number of his own casualties, had found that already, he'd lost a third of the men here, not a poor trade for the traitors, but soon, that number would increase exponentially.

As he was about to give the order for the second rank to pull back to the upper level, he heard a roar, and gazed out, across the chamber, to where he saw it's source.

The terminator champion had been standing at the far end, surveying the battle as it raged, face twitching with the pain engine drilling into the back of his mind. His massive power fist clenched and relaxed repeatedly, as he saw his brothers and comrades charge into the minefield, triggering the defense he'd been expecting, and striking back. But now, the advance was to slow, there was not enough blood being shed, and he was growing impatient. If the mines were slowing his men down, then he would deal with them, and clear a path himself, taking a few steps forward. With a bark of his legion's foul tongue, a servitor, corrupted and shifted in service to the Blood God, rolled up carrying a large weapon in hand, which the champion took. Holding up his massive lance, barbed and brutal looking, the power weapon flickered to life, as he let loose a rumbling war cry, and began to charge.

Terminator armour was a huge, bulky thing, yet by no means, was it impaired in speed when used right. Before the eyes of the guardsmen, the walking avatar of slaughter would move forward, gaining speed, until he eventually came up against the first barricade. Like a mortal tank, the armoured form would crash through the metal tabled, casting them aside, only slightly lowering his speed, before he'd plunge onwards, gaining more and more momentum, smashing through the next just as easily. The juggernaut of fury came forth without pause, stepping upon a land mine intended for infantry, the resulting explosion not even hampering him, earning cheers from his comrades, and stares of horror from the imperials. Cries came from all parties, the demand to bring him down growing, only to be silenced by a bark from the Space Marine.

"No! Focus your fire on hampering the others, I will deal with this fell bastard."

Santana would glare at the oncoming terminator, and knew what he must do. If this being breached his defenses, he would cut a path his brethren could follow, and there would be none getting out of this room alive among the defenders. The champion of the Blood God, he needed to die, here and now, and despite himself, Santana knew that in this room, he was the only one who stood a sizable chance at bring him down. Taking in a breath, as the khornate smashed through another explosive mine, designed to destroy tanks, without much as a snarl, Santana would look upon a sergeant who bore a power sword at his hip, before growling through his vox.

"Sergeant Rodimus, I require a favour of you..."

Moments later, Santana jumped forth from the barricade, charging towards the traitor sergeant, his bolter in one hand, and the power sword of the guardsman in the other. The weapon was small in his grip, more akin to a shortsword than the weapon he would have wielded, but he would need to make due with what he had. Infront of him, he saw the eyes of the enemy champion lock upon him, singling out the astartes in an instant, a snarl creasing across his visage. He knew what was running through his mind, that on a ship full of mortals, Santana represented a foe of a higher caliber, a skull worth claiming for Khorne's throne. A snarl of the XIIth legions bastard language was heard, and as the Khornates continued to shoot and move, they did not aim for the Crimson Fist, for his blood was claimed. Gaining speed, Santana and the champion would close the distance between one another, as the loyalist felt both his heart pumping, his blood boiling with rage, and purpose guiding his every moment. He needed to succeed here, The Emperor demanded no less, and by the Golden Throne, if he was to die, then he would take this damned betrayer with him! As the distance grew shorter and shorted, the champion would hold out his spear and power fist, bellowing a roar of challenge, as Santana raised his bolter in one hand and fired.

With a crack, the shot would fly through the air, not towards the Khornate, but at the mine right before his feet, impacting against it, and causing for a detonation. Smoke and fire was kicked up, obscuring the vision of the enemy for a moment, so that as his sight returned, he saw the blue space marine in the air bolter cast aside, both hands upon the small blade, falling down to split his skull in one fell swoop. Santana watched as the khornate's eyes widened with anger, letting loose a growl. The Crimson Fist himself let loose a roar of fury, willing his blade to fall faster, that he might end this threat here.

And then, he felt the pain.

It happened quickly, as one moment, he was leaping towards his foe, the next, he was halted midair. A explosion of pain burst from his lower torso, as he heard his ceremite plating tear, and felt his flesh split. The lance of the khornate had met him, and with a burst of force from the enemy champion, he was impaled upon it, the tip of the weapon breaking out behind him. Santana saw warning runes flash across his helmet's HUD, feeling the pain spreading through his body, blood seeping from the wound, dripping down upon the face of his foe, who's lips turned into a grin.

Standing there, the Khornate Champion would let loose a booming laughter, as he hoisted up the impaled marine, his great strength displaying his prize for all to see, as he called out at the defenders.

"See now what happens when your angels fly against the Lord of Skulls! Fear dogs, death comes for you all."

Among the guardsmen, the firing was hesitated, as from behind the barricades, the khornates began to advance further. Yet quickly, anger bloomed in the mortals, who would redouble their efforts, firing with fury against these mongrels who dared defile this ship. Death had them cornered, and instead of simply accepting it, instead, they would rage against it's coiling claws. Fire poured down onto the advancing Khornates, spurred on by their leader, each shot a venting of the fires that burned within, the champion laughing at the spectacle before him. The dogs of the Imperium would fuel the hatred in the air, and would make an acceptable slaughter in the name of Khorne. However, in one moment, a channel would be opened to the remaining sergeants.

"Begin the retreat...."

Santana's voice, hoarse and grumbling, would still carry a weight of command to it, as he hung loosely from the lance for all to see. Protests would be voiced, but he would not hear it, answering.

"The mess hall is lost, but we have bled them, and made them pay for this advance. Do not die here, and begin the retreat, the ship will need you in the hours to come."

With that, the order would be given, as by the time the first renegade marines breached the second barrier, the first would already be pulling back towards the Officer's Dining area. From here, the systematic withdraw of the guard would begin, each squad moving back into the kitchens, going one by one into the trio of vents that would prove to be their salvation from this pit of slaughter. Each line was led by a soldier specifically instructed in the guiding towards the nearest exit that would take them upwards three levels, where they would be able to make their way towards another defensive position and continue the fight. There would be casualties, and everyone knew that people would die, those last few men holding the line giving themselves to allow their brethren to escape. The bitter hatred of the situation would burn for many in the face of war's reality.
​

Part 2/2

Noticing the guardsmen pulling back, the Khornates would reinforce their efforts, charging now at the cornered prey, eager to get into the slaughter. Though a path had been cleared by their leader, there still remained some who would give into the bloodlust, charging forward, into the last of the mines. In sight of this, the champion would let loose a bellowing laughter, mocking the Imperials for their cowardice, and assuring them that they would die like animals, no matter out here, face to face, or in their final bastion, begging for mercy. However, a sound would get his attention, as he looked up, to see the form of Santana, still clutching his sword, reaching to grab the haft of the lance, gripping it weakly. The Khornate would laugh when he couldn't get a proper grip, slick fingers unable to wrap around it completely, before giving him a heft, enjoying the blood that sprayed as the lance dug deeper into his flesh.

"No cries of pain, child of Dorn? Admirable, but meaningless, you die whether or not your admit the fact, and your skull will be brought towards the Skull Throne for The Blood Father."

Giving him another heft, the khornate would grin, as Santana finally let loose a yell. Yet, he soon realized, this cry was not one of pain and defeat, but one of determination, and rage.

Santana brought back his sword, before swinging out with it, the power blade cutting through the air. Putting what he had left of his strength into this final attempt, the blade would impact against the haft of the lance, splitting it where the blade struck, leading to the Crimson Fist to fall. As he did so, Santana would feel time crawl, as he knew he'd only get one shot at this, as his drop slowed before him. He glared into the eyes of the Khornate, amused with this defiance, yet filled with murderous intent, reading the thoughts that lay within. It mattered not that the weapon was broken, as soon as he hit the ground, the disciple of the Blood God would finish him there, his life more than worth a single lance. Yet, he also saw budding surprise, as the renegade watched Santana's arm coiled back, a fist drawn. His gauntlet, crimson with the colours of his chapter, crimson with the blood of his foes, would rear back, before being launched towards the face of Santana's foe, as he saw his enemy's mouth twitch in a smile. No matter the final strike, the champion would allow it, to prove his efforts in vain.

Yet, in a moment before impact, Santana's fingers uncoiled, their tips stabbing into the flesh, not of the face, but the throat beneath. The Khornate felt blood welling up, a gurgled snarl of shock sounding off, as the obstruction in his airway prevented him from venting his fury. Dropping to the ground, the Crimson Fist lay, swiftly attempting to roll onto his back, as if that would save him, the avatar of Slaughter raising a boot in outrage, looking to crush him here and there. It was only in that moment, that he noticed a shine of silver upon the fist coated in his blood, only then, that he saw the pin, and realized, the obstruction in his throat was not completely gone.

Santana, seeking the favour of the imperial guard, had taken two things from the sergeant, the first being his power sword, and the second, being his krak grenade. The explosive, while powerful, would not pierce the armour, where the mines had failed, and so, Santana had needed to deliver it to an exposed point, the only exposed point on his enemy. He knew the sword would draw the attention, that the triumph of claiming a trophy would cloud the mind, and offer him a chance at victory, no matter how slim, and decided he would have to take it. The eyes of the champion would widen in final realization, before the explosive detonated, spraying the area around him in the blood of the newly slain. Indeed, an old saying of the Blood God would be proven true here to his follower in his final moments, for Khorne care not from whence the blood flowed. The terminator armour, now bearing a corpse, would stand for a moment, defying the death of it's master, before dropping backwards with a crash, defeated.

Santana would feel the fire spreading through his body, the pain shooting through him despite his efforts to banish it. Crawling upon the ground, he'd slowly get to his knees, the borrowed power sword still clutched in his hands, as he looked back towards the defensive position. The imperials had been withdrawing in good fashion, keeping up the rate of fire, and yet, a final eight berserkers had managed to reach the mortals at last, defying the barricades, defying the mines, defying all the gun fire, now coming for the slaughter. Supporting himself upon a nearby tabled, partially crushed by the fallen terminator, the space marine, would scoop up his dropped bolter from the ground, and would try to sight the enemy, blinking away the warning runes on his HUD.

Firing a trio of bolts, two would go wide, while the third would slam into the power pack of one traitor, causing him to turn in response to this assault. Spotting the dead champion, and the wounded space marine, the creature would utter a shout of rage, before leaping down, and charging towards Santana. Drawing the attention of two more of it's comrades, Santana would see the trio barreling his way, swiftly ejecting his empty magazine, and slamming another one home. This was the best he could do, looking back at the remaining five berserkers cutting into the last of the guardsmen, the best he could defend them. As the renegades came closer and closer to him, he'd take a knee, raise his bolter, and hope that The Emperor did not find him wanting, before firing.
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Remaining Khornate Berserkers: 216