As consciousness gradually returned to Teas, he was met with pressure and sharp, stabbing pain.  His eyes opened, witnessed a confused heads-up display and darkness.  Serrated metal pressed downward, some were stopped by the ceramite plating of his power armor, other shards found a home in the flesh between armor plates.  His phobos-pattern armor, designed for stealth, speed, and maneuverability, only assisted these metallic invaders with larger gaps around his joints.  He was sandwiched between a mess of heavy metal and was quite literally, pinned in place.

                There was only one way out he knew, no matter the futility.  Drawing in a deep breath, Teas mentally prepared himself for the suffering ahead.  Testing his confines, he moved an arm.  Metal sliced into flesh, punishing his elbow yet bringing relief that some movement was possible.  There was only one way forward.  Teas summoned the wellspring of strength that resided within his posthuman frame and pressed down, forcing his back to arch.  Many slivers carved new wounds in the warrior’s body, and nothing was gained.  He tried harder, straining his extremities and willing the structure that buried him to move.  After a time, it gave just a bit, and his resolve was refreshed.  Pushing with all his might, blood pouring from irritated wounds, he forced the roof of his prison up, and for the first time, his eyes witnessed the outside world: a surface of brown mud illuminated not by any star, but by a maddening red glow.  He pushed further and strained harder.  His limbs pried free of the horrible daggers, and he climbed his way to freedom.

                With an audible crunch, Teas lunged out from his ruined transport, and he lay in the mud, marring his armor’s white.  As he regained his strength, bleeding in the open, the abnormal glow in the sky shown across his purple right pauldron, its gold trim gleaming in the illumination, with the purple color continuing the length of his right arm and gauntlet.  On his other shoulder was proudly displayed the black on white sigil of the Sons of the Phoenix: a helm with wing below and lightning above, gazing upon a stylized star.  Smeared in oil and blood, scratched and muddied, Teas’ white armor was of Mark X Phobos design, slenderer than the variant worn by most of his brothers, and offering more range of movement.  His backpack would have born an omni-scrambler antenna, had his entire body not been crushed nearly to death.

                Pain, his old friend, tore at his joints when he pulled himself to his feet.  A brief glance told him that the immediate area was devoid of any features.  Before he studied this further, however, he had to examine his prior home.  The Invincible Chariot, once a gleaming repulsor transport, had been thoroughly smashed.  Very few identifiable features remained.  It was as though some great hammer had appeared from the heavens and flattened the vehicle entirely.

                He knew it was futile, but if he had survived, then perhaps…

                “Eclaz.  Selor.  Come in.”  His heads-up display received nothing from the vehicle’s remaining crew, not even a read on their vox transmissions.  They were naught but blood and bone now, blended with ceremite and debris.  It was good that they had deployed the passengers not five minutes prior.

                Wait.  “Squad Sevelei, come in.”  His heads-up display was still confused.  His fellow infiltrators should still be in communications range.  He attempted to lift the cover on his left wrist, where he might adjust his vox equipment.  Alas, the wreck had sealed it shut.  No access to the vox network, he mused.  He was in worse shape than he had thought.  I must confirm the status of the crew.  Perhaps I simply cannot hear them.

                He briefly looked upon the area that should contain the cockpit, and he began to put together a plan for sifting through the wreckage.  Then, Teas looked up.  He knew what was happening to the planet.  But he did not know how much worse its condition was.

                Covering the entire sky, a ragged vermillion wound bled hot and angry into reality.  It shifted, expanded.  Pulsating off-white gaps in the dread formed the eyes of a colossal beast, then distorted and swelled into forbidding geometry.  The more Teas gazed into the madness, the heavier his pulse beat, the deeper his disquietude drained hope from his being.  There was no sound to this apocalyptic crescendo.  He felt as though fangs were closing in on the world.  Intrusive thoughts scraped at his disciplined mind.  He fought the urge to laugh.  When he realized his hand was on his holstered bolt pistol, he withdrew as though scorched.  Teas shook his head.  He could do nothing about the sky.  Gritting his teeth, he moved back to the wreck.

                Despite his enhanced strength, moving thick armor plates of the ruined repulsor with his bare hands was a nearly impossible task.  He focused on his work, slowly pried what debris he could, in an attempt to reveal the cockpit.  Every motion produced more pain as many cuts had severed flesh down to the bone.  After a time, his efforts were rewarded as he removed a large armor plate to reveal a smashed white helmet, oozing blood from every crevice.  Teas did not require further proof.  Closing his eyes, he prayed for Eclaz and Selor, brave warriors who found inglorious ends here in this crushed transport.  No. They died in battle. Teas reminded himself.  They sacrificed their lives in service to the Emperor.  These were good deaths.  He ignored the images his brain illustrated, where marines were felled in glorious firefights, their honor never called into question.  Eclaz and Seldr perished whilst prosecuting a crusade, he insisted to himself.  Their honor is intact.  There is nothing further to dwell upon.

                Standing slowly, tempted to look upon the sky once more, Teas instead set his eyes to scanning the landscape.  Low hills rolled into the distance, where a mountain range was visible on the horizon.  The land was covered in dirt and mud, a barren place where nothing grew.  There were no features present here.  Studying his malfunctioning heads-up display, the one functioning readout was his compass indicator.  Team Sevelei should be south of here, but they have their own objectives.  The Invincible Chariot was dispatched to Nara Settlement.  I must make my way there.  He turned to align himself with the north-northeast direction of Nara, and proceeded forward, paying for every step with frayed nerves bathed in hot blood.

                With a short glance over his should he surveyed the wreckage of the repulsor, barely concealed by the low hill behind him, and sighed before focusing ahead. Teas marched forward, down one muddy hill and toward the next rise.  His joints ached from having been pierced by serrated metal, trapped in the jaws of the ruin that was once The Invincible Chariot, a repulsor that had only seen a decade of service.  Narrow rivers of blood issued from these wounds, mixing with the brown mud that caked on his off-white armor.  His energy reserves low, sheer stubbornness propelled the marine forward.  Though he was armed only with a bolt pistol, he knew well that a marine himself was a potent weapon, and one that would be utilized until his hearts beat no more.

                Nearing the top of the current hill he ascended, his breathing was ragged.  His destination remained quite far for a soldier on foot, and many hills needed to be traversed in order to accomplish his mission.  Periodically, he called out to his vox, though he knew it was damaged in the crash.  His heads-up display threw glitchy symbols and preposterous numbers before his eyes, further signs of the damage to his equipment.  While his compass still worked, he would continue toward the settlement his transport was meant to reinforce.

                At the crest of the hill, his eyes once again met with that blasphemous sky, an expanse of vermilion pouring from multiple heavensward apertures.  Shifting blood-red masses left black voids behind, revealing hints of enormous demons.  He felt pressure upon his being simply by witnessing this event.  The psychic pressure attacked the strength in his soul, pouring over him sensations of dread and hopelessness.  He knew what was happening, and it was too much for Teas to gaze upon.  He did not think this thought.  His lips reluctantly parted.  “The planet is being swallowed by the warp,” he spoke, a shiver shooting through his body as the words rang in his own ears.

                Forcing his head down, Teas willed himself to focus on the landscape again, examining the many hills.  Flashes in the distance reassured him that he was traveling in the correct direction.  Sighting no nearby threats, he once again focused on the next hill, and began to descend the one he had conquered.  New sensations reached into his frame, and he felt a touch of anxiety.  Something was happening, and he had no idea what.  He drew his bolt pistol and entered a ready stance just in time to witness the source of this psychic trauma.

                Ahead of him, on the crest of the next hill, the air seemed to distort as though fabric were being crumpled.  In the most distorted spaces of reality, blood red dripped into realspace, expanding as milk dropped into clear water would.  More of these drops expanded, cloudy, many shades of red.  Before long, there were two distinct forms, which rapidly took shape.  Teas knew where this was headed, leveled his bolt pistol and fired three shots into one of the forming masses.  This appeared to anger the distortions, which now glowed in rage-filled red.  Features began to manifest quickly now from this invasion into the material world.  Teeth.  Claws.  Horns.  Lastly, long black blades, the size of a man, were clasped in powerful demonic grips as the horrors drew them forth snapping them too into reality.  The new arrivals were indeed bloodletters, lesser demons of Khorne.

                Now fully formed, the pair of demons roared, stepping forth in Teas’ direction.  He answered this by firing another burst of bolt rounds from his pistol.  While these produced gaping wounds in one of the bloodletters, it was not staggered, and both lunged into an all-out charge down the hill.  Recalibrating his aim, he emptied his pistol into the target he had weakened.  By the time the two had reached the bottom of the hill, one stumbled forward, tumbling downward as its body appeared to disperse.  By the time the corpse had finished rolling from its momentum, its entire form had dissipated in a trail of red ethereal energy.  The second demon had not noticed the fate of its counterpart, not that its awareness would change its trajection, and was now charging up the hill, both hands clutching its great blade.  Teas lined up his sights, taking care to aim, and squeezed the trigger.

                Click.

                Ammunition expended, Teas reached for his combat knife, only now realizing that it was absent.  This did not dampen Teas’ spirits.  He did not need a bolt weapon to slay a demon.  He did not need a knife.  I am the knife, he thought, directing this intention toward his rapidly approaching foe.  And that’s not all, thoughtless demon-spawn.  I have the high ground.

                The bloodletter’s charge had slowed as it climbed the muddy hill.  Assuming a combat stance, Teas awaited the demon’s arrival, prepared to take advantage of its mindless attack.  Just prior to reaching the top, its hellblade prepared to strike, Teas lunged toward the warp spawn, striking its left with his shoulder.  Between the climb, the mud, and the oversized sword, the demon lost its balance and slid to the ground.  Wasting no time, Teas rolled on top of the demon, pummeling its grotesque face with his fists.  The bloodletter had not abandoned its massive sword and was attempting to strike with it, but Teas was in too close, and the demon could not attain enough momentum to do any damage.  With each punch, the hideous face became progressively more repulsive, teeth and jaws caving until he was striking its wet skull.  When the demon ceased its struggles, Teas sat up, shuffled back, raised his fists aloft with fingers interwoven, and began to strike the demon’s chest with impressive force.  He struck again, again, and again.  The creature writhed, unable to defend itself.  Then at last, he struck his final blow to the creature.  There was a crunch, a shudder, and it began to ooze as though a vase had its bottom broken, the blood-red milk splashing down and out, vanishing just as it had arrived.

                Exhaustion was replaced with adrenaline, and Teas was back on his feet.  He holstered the empty bolt pistol, attempted to wipe the mud from his helm with an even muddier gauntlet, making it worse.  Once again, he trod toward his original destination, pride beating in his chest.

                Standing before a backdrop of fluttering vermilion curtains, where mouths formed, shifted, and dissipated with no rhyme or reason, an imperial bastion remained intact.  Intact?  That was not the correct word.  While it showed no signs of recent damage, the warp and its host of demons were enough to enact changes to realspace.  The ferrocrete structure was now a deep black, reflective as though made of onyx, and at its top was a full castle rampart.  The very landscape was being re-made to suit the chaos demons as the planet was drawn ever closer to being fully engulfed by the warp.  While lesser men would lose hope at this sight, Teas’ anger deepened, and his convictions strengthened.  This is a violation against the men and servitors who built this structure.  They will pay for this desecration.

                Finally leaving the barren hellscape behind he arrived at the outskirts of the forward base, positioned near the settlement.  When the fighting became focused on habitat areas, all equipment and personnel were transferred from camps such as this.  Glancing around, Teas could view the entire camp from his position.  Many STC structures stood here, most of them intended for munition storage, with others meeting the requirements for barracks, communications, and command.  The marine found and entered the structure that controlled the coms array discovering that all equipment had been moved.  The bastion was his last chance, and thanks to malign influences, that structure was changed and sealed.  It was time to move on.  He maneuvered through the camp one final time, examining the area for any equipment left behind, and was rewarded for his reconnaissance.

                Concealed between two STC buildings was a modified galvanic servohauler attached to a flatbed.  As he approached the vehicle, he noted several manual controls wired into the unit.  It felt odd stepping onto the flatbed, as the entire machine was designed for humans of average size, but this was hardly an issue if it could ferry him to the settlement.  Knowing only a few generalized prayers to the Machine Spirit, Teas softly spoke the words, spared a few words to the Emperor, and cautiously pressed the ignition switch.  The servohauler puttered to life, and the marine’s joy was evident to any would-be onlooker.  Wasting no time, he cranked the device into gear, and road it away from the camp. Grateful for the vehicle, he found the pace was gradual, and while it beat walking, left much to be desired.  A modification caught Teas’ attention: a lever mounted on the side.  Not knowing what this lever would do, he pushed it as far as it could go.  Suddenly, the servohauler jerked him back into his seat, as its engine roared louder and burned many times faster.  Regaining his balance, he praised the Emperor for his good fortune.  Checking his compass, he steered the fast-moving servohauler toward the settlement.  It would not be long now, and flashes in the distance told Teas that he was not too late.

                Speeding across the muddy scene, overamped servohauler launching over hills, he could make out the structures of Nara in the distance.  Of course, this view included the backdrop of the sky, which once again led Teas’ gaze into the madness of the warp.  Far above, shadowed tendrils slowly descended toward the horizon in every direction.  Purple, yellow, and green bolts of lightning wove their way across the heavens.  The maddening scene felt dramatically more oppressive than even before, and it became difficult to stave off the hopelessness that seemed to wash over him in waves.  He did not pray in defiance.  Teas found himself muttering broken prayers to the Emperor as he searched for the strength he knew lay within his soul.

                By the time Teas shook off this intrusive despair, he realized that he had entered the outskirts of Nara.  Cranking down the speed, he examined the structures around him.  Not quite within the settlement proper, these STC structures were flimsy and designed to be temporary.  While most were intact, several were decidedly less so, often replaced by deep craters.  While the battle had not reached this section of Nara, stray artillery shells certainly had, and he had spotted the corpses of unlucky colonists.  Or perhaps these were the lucky ones, Teas considered.  They likely died instantly and were spared the sight of the Empyrion.

                In his exhausted and injured state, he had allowed these thoughts to distract him.  A loud clap followed by a sputter of winding-down activity indicated that the engine block had been struck by a large caliber round and given out, as oil poured forth from the impact.  The servohauler was dead, and Teas’ senses were suddenly razor sharp as he scanned the would-be battlefield.  Once again, he reassured himself.  They have guns.  I do not.  I do not need them.  I am the weapon.  Psyched up and proud of his genetic superiority, Teas was primed to pounce on any threat amidst the sporadically placed structures.

                “Hold!”  The voice was familiar, particularly when processed by a space marine helmet.  Continuing to frantically scan the structures, he saw a figure emerge, then another.  These were marines wearing Mk X power armor.  His pulse eased, and he allowed his aching muscles to ease.  Carefully, he dismounted the servohauler, and approached the other marines.  Though the red-light dancing across the landscape was far from ideal illumination, he could see their off-white armor, the purple right shoulder pad and arm.  His caution eased, and he attempted to identify the newcomers, even as a third marine wearing gravis armor allowed himself to be seen.  He noted a white helmet with a purple vertical stripe.  A sergeant.  His bolt rifle was slung, a chainsword held in the left hand, resting against the shoulder that bore the chapter’s badge.  A rectangular case swayed from his belt, and while he was too far to see, it likely contained a sacred bone relic.

                “Sergeant Keat,” Teas called to his superior.  A brief glance at the intercessor near him was enough to identify Nonen, who always wore his marksman battle honor, a bolt round with ring, on his right shoulder, and wore a miniature shrine on his belt, typically favored by the eliminators, who blessed every bolt prior to firing.  His stalker-pattern bolt rifle was held at the low ready.  Ever vigilant.

                “Dorn’s blood, answer when we call to you!  Korrecht mistook you for a hostile!”

                Teas somehow doubted this, looking on the man in massive gravis armor, carrying his heavy bolt rifle in one hand, gripping it at its middle.  He did not know the heavy intercessor well, despite serving in the same company.  A man of few words, Teas reflected.  I can respect a man who cares only for completing the mission at hand.  “My vox is offline,” Teas explained.

                “How does an infiltrator damage his vox equipment?” the sergeant challenged.

                Teas allowed his physical state to speak for itself.  He likely resembled a casualty re-animated by the walking pox.  “Squad Lowel was deployed some ten klicks south of the forward base-“

                “Damned Lowel,” Keat interrupted.  “How is that old electric head?”

                Teas paused, surprised by the sudden casual attitude.  “Lowel is Lowel, I suppose.  Still fancying himself a techmarine.  Sergeant, where are the others?”

                “Chaplain Cax grew tired of waiting.  He and his cadre of ministorum priests brought four squads to the battlefield in the north.  We were positioned here to await the long overdue Invincible Chariot.”

                “Brother Keat, I was on board the Chariot.  Did you see the marauder bombers earlier?  They were not friendlies.  One of them loosed a row of heavy bombs in a line over us, and they were lucky.  I am all that remains of the Chariot.”

                “Damn.  Well, that explains your appearance.”

                “And the vox,” Nonen offered.

                Teas was subconsciously grinding his teeth.  “By the Throne, there were dead men there!  Brothers Eclaz and Selor gave their lives trying to bring that machine here.  They were intercessors, and wanted to march on the enemy, but were instead ordered to pilot the Chariot.  They are now in pieces, crushed and ground to nothing.  How can you make light of this?”

                Nonen shifted his stance, cocked his head.  “I don’t know, infiltrator.  Maybe it’s because we’re hours away from becoming a warp-based chapter.”

                Before Teas could answer this outrage, the sergeant spoke.  “No one is making light of anything.  Our situation is dire, but this is no time to surrender ourselves to fate.”  Keat’s helmet bore down on Nonen as he spoke those last words, which elicited merely a grunt from the sniper.  The sergeant turned back to Teas.  “I apologize, brother, but in your current state, I cannot identify you.  I know you to fight alongside old electric head-”

                “Teas,” he said forcefully.  We have bigger problems right now, brother!

                “Brother Teas.  Does any of your equipment yet function?”

                He sighed.  “My compass functions.”

                Sudden laughter rang out.  “Your compass!  Well that’s grand!  We have Teas, Master of Compasses to lead us!”  It was Nonen again.  Teas knew the sniper to be serious, direct, and faithful.  He’s losing himself to the madness of the Warp, he assumed.  This will not end well.

                To Teas’ astonishment, the sergeant ignored the outburst.  “If the Chariot is indeed destroyed, and you are all who remains of its crew, we should move to join our brothers in the north.  Remember, men: the war has not yet been won or lost.  We must lend ourselves to the fighting and cleanse this damned world.”

                “Sure.”  Nonen’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.  “Let’s shoot our bolters at cultists!  That’ll stave off the warp!”

                Keat’s helmet turned to Nonen, but he said nothing.  He approached Teas, grasped the sling of his bolter, and handed it to the infiltrator.  “It’s not an augur-scope, but it’s more powerful than what you’re used to.  Do you need anything?”

                “Heretics,” Teas said, feeling his mind drift somewhat.  “I could really use some heretics to shoot.”  When receiving the bolt rifle, he instinctively turned the weapon over and slid the magazine out.  Nine bolts.  It could be worse.  His mind went to the bolt pistol in his holster.  It could be empty.

Keat nodded, and with his right hand, indicated that the four would form a staggered two-by-two formation and head to the north.  They complied, sure to move slowly enough for the heavy intercessor to keep up.  Teas was elated to be serving with his battle brothers again.  Despite that one of them was close to cracking, he knew Nonen well enough to assume that his priority will still be on the efficient elimination of the enemy.  Identifying as somewhat of a sharpshooter himself, Teas welcomed the company of marines who could make every bolt count.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and the quartet of marines slogged through the muddy streets of Nara settlement.  Durable STC hab structures lined the wide street, where trucks and servohaulers lay abandoned.  With sergeant Keat closest to the houses on the right, Teas moved near the structures far to Keat’s left.  Behind Keat slogged Korrecht, who struggled to keep pace inside his gravis armor, and behind Teas was Nonen.  While he trusted his battle brother, Teas did not trust the warp and what it could do to the minds of men.  Every so often, he caught himself praying that Nonen would refrain from shooting him in the back.  He’s a marine, He reassured himself.  He is conditioned to withstand intense stress and fear.  He will rise above this.

The infiltrator eyed up the houses on his left.  Utilizing his own training, his eyes darted to different positions he would take up, if it were him within the building.  Battles were definitely fought in this section of the town, though not quite enough to completely destroy all standing structures.  Many of the housing units featured gaping holes and signs of gunfire being received by the ferrocrete walls.  The street was pocked with blast marks, and some of the abandoned equipment in the road had apparently received direct hits from these explosives, making it difficult to determine what the vehicles had looked like prior to the fighting.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Simultaneously, the four stopped in their tracks and looked up in awe.  This was confirmation that the battle was not lost.  This was confirmation that the Sons of the Phoenix were still in the running.  This was confirmation that a great war fleet continued to orbit the planet.  Scouring through the atmosphere, destined for the battle in the north, were literally hundreds of space-to-surface weapons.  Krak bombs, melta torpedos, plasma volleys, even large ship-to-ship missiles rained down from above.  This was a Sons of the Phoenix firestorm, a battle tactic they had become famous for, particularly in massive battles such as those fought during the war for Vigilus.  Watching as the firestorm descended, they gazed on as the blasts formed on the horizon, many of them blinding.  High explosives and fusion weapons impacted a dozen at a time, pummeling the surface of the planet until nothing remained.  In the middle of this spectacle, lance strikes could be seen as incandescent, perfectly straight lines drew from orbit to the surface, creating grand explosions.  The enemy force was being beaten to death, and as the firestorm petered off to only a few projectiles at a time, the marines knew that their ground forces, and whatever remained of the astra militarum, were preparing to attack whatever remained of the enemy, marching through heavy fire without fear to annihilate their foes.  This was how the Sons of the Phoenix operated, and it inspired hope in the hearts of the four marines.

As activity on the front calmed down, the group continued their trek to the front, feeling the adrenaline pump through their veins as their eagerness to join their brothers and strike at a wounded enemy grew.  Their pace hastened, leading to a cursing heavy intercessor leaping forward at a sprint in order to keep pace.  Rushing forward had Teas feeling as though he were already a part of their main force.  He could see it in his mind’s eye:  Bounding over the bodies of the fallen, bolter in hand, he would weather the gunfire, move to hard cover.  From there, he would lean out, striking the enemy with controlled shots.  It was such satisfying sight, he almost forgot where he was: swiftly walking through sucking mud surrounded by damaged housing.  He was mentally refreshed, however, and felt like a true crusader, burning a path through the stars.  His physical pain receding as his anticipations rose.

A government building stood ahead of them, the final obstacle obscuring their view of the battlefield.  The wide street circled around the building in both directions, and many vehicles, some of them militarum chimerae, were damaged or destroyed in the space between the near-empty road and the structure.  There were many distractions.  There were many places to search for the enemy.  There was the firestorm, which still occupied the minds of the marines.  Thoughts of their brothers tugged at their typically attentive minds.  Then there was the sky.  These distractions blinded them to details on which marines typically picked up.  The clearest sign missed was that the blasts responsible for destroying the vehicles must have originated in the direction of the government building.

When heavy stubber and autocannon fire erupted from the building ahead, though distracted as they were, the marines reacted instantly.  The heavy intercessor, still jogging, moved for two damaged vehicles in the center of the street, likely intending to create a gun nest there.  He could not hear the vox chatter, but Teas knew it was happening, as the other two marines moved to occupy the closest buildings on either side of the road.  Locating a sturdy truck, Teas ran for the vehicle, sliding in the mud as he slammed against its side, taking cover from the heavy weapons.  He could now see lasgun shots scorch the air as they blasted away.  While he could not speak for his allies, Teas had not been hit.  The enemy was attempting to overwhelm and pin the marines.  This action, combined with their critical supplies, called for a specific counterstrike, detailed in the Codex Astartes.

Slowly, the barrel of Teas’ bolt rifle peaked out from behind a goliath truck.  He peered through the scope of his weapon, adjusting himself until his hold on the rifle was steady and his vantage point ideal.  The government building was magnified.  While used to the augur-scope of his marksman bolt carbine, where targets would be illuminated, he had to play this one old-school.  Through his scope, his gaze lingered on sections of the structure ahead.  He found sections where men were likely to take cover, windows that would be advantageous.  His crosshairs examined a window with a curious-looking gun barrel protruding.  Nine bolts, he reminded himself, positioned the crosshairs, and squeezed the trigger.  The report of his bolt rifle was loud and echoed through the streets.  The gun barrel vanished into the window.  Eight bolts, Teas thought.

Autocannons focused fire on Korrecht’s position, situated as he was between a wedge of two ruined vehicles.  One or two shells struck him, harmlessly deflected on his bulky frame.  His heavy bolt rifle rang out five times, silencing one of the autocannon positions.  From behind him, Teas could hear Nonen’s stalker bolt rifle, firing periodically, ensuring that each bolt found its way home.  Further away and on the other side of the street, he heard Keat’s bolt pistol fire repeatedly.  Focusing on the heavy weapons, the team whittled down the opposition, one man at a time.  Those with lasguns were safe for the time being.  Anyone foolish enough to retrieve a heavy weapon from a fallen soldier were blasted by the marines.  This was the first step of their battle tactic, practiced both on and off live battlefields.  For a time, both sides were mostly inactive.  Lasgun-bearing hostiles fired away, but the marines only fired when there was activity near the fallen heavy stubber and autocannon bearers.  They would move on to other targets soon, once the marines had taught the enemy this particular lesson: leave the heavy weapons where they lie.

Marines controlled the battle, which is precisely what this tactic was designed to accomplish.  Five bolts remaining, Teas continued to cautiously scan the enemy position.  Since he could not hear the vox chatter, he would have to switch priority when the other marines did so.  He watched the enemy, now firing only a few lasgun shots at a time.  Any moment now, he would assist them in taking care of the entrenched infantry.  Emperor willing, they will fall back at that time.  He found a soldier, a cultist wearing a gas mask, clutching a lasgun to his chest.  His crosshairs danced around his center mass, around his head.  Any time now, he thought as he willed his sergeant to proceed with the second half of the tactic.

There was comfort in following a familiar tactic from a familiar tome, as well as actively operating with battle brothers.  This comfort was shattered in its entirety by an event none could have anticipated.  While still looking through his scope, brilliant yellow-green light shone through the optics, and would have been blinding had the lens in Teas’ helm not been filtered.  He lowered his weapon and bore witness to something utterly unholy: blasts of brilliant lightning, yellow-green in color, crackled down from the heavens.  Through the entire settlement, blasts from the warp struck the ground.  One strike nearby blasted the mud in the road, and when the bolt had faded, the shape of the bolt blackened in the marine’s eyes, a sickly tentacle sluggishly grew from the blast point.  The building ahead was struck many times, some of these directly over the enemy’s position.  Teas’ hearts beat fast.  How can one hope to defend against such an attack?

He should have thought better of wondering how the situation could worsen.  Once bewildered by the appearance of the awful lightning, he quickly peered through his scope again.  The target he had chosen but not killed was now writhing in agony, shaking and screaming.  Finally, he fell forward on the barricade he had been standing behind.  His body convulsed once, then again.  Finally, bone and repulsive flesh exploded from his frame.  Many claws, teeth, and eyes covered what was becoming a large fleshy creature.  His eyes wide in astonishment, he scanned the rest of the enemy position with his scope.  Every combatant, every human cultist was erupting into masses of terrible flesh, spikes, mouths, tongues.  Somewhere in the back of Teas’ tortured mind, he was begging, bargaining with some unseen spirit that the things he beheld were not happening.  He pleaded that this was not true.  Then, the steady-headed Korrecht rang out several shots.  Teas moved his scope to look upon the victim, who bore two large bullet holes, and those holes were sealing rapidly.

In response to this attack, the injured spawn clamored over the barricade and charged at the heavy intercessor.  Following suit, the chaotic monstrosities moved mindlessly forward, rolling, tripping, and stumbling over their many limbs, several eyes on each mass glaring at the marines.  Teas found one and fired one single shot.  It was a solid hit, but only slowed the spawn for a moment.  A second, then a third shot forced the demon to collapse.  It was still writhing, but Teas did not have the ammunition to finish it off.  He re-calibrated, finding another of the beasts, much closer to his position.  He fired his two remaining shots in rapid succession.  Both struck its center mass, and the creature exploded in a mess of blood and gore.  As guts and fel flesh poured out onto the road, its meat began to grow.  The further the original creature crumbled, more of it gathered into piles around, and those piles grew spikes and eyes of their own.  He had killed one of the spawns and created three more.

Out of ammunition, Teas pulled away, dropped the rifle, and put his back to the truck.  He tried to control his breathing.  You can do this, he urged himself.  You have done it before.  You can do it again.  Oh, Emperor, steady my mind!  Make me into Your weapon of vengeance!  Give me the strength to destroy Your enemies!  His breathing strengthened, and he became more sure of himself.  He looked down at his hands, palms facing him, covered in mud and dried blood.  These are my weapons now.  I will annihilate them!

“I’m out!” cried Nonen desperately.

Keat dropped his bolt pistol.  “Prepare for hand-to-hand, brothers!”

Teas was feeling a new rush of adrenaline now, and clenched his fists.  He was ready.  Ready, and unwilling to allow his enemies to reach him first.  He took in a deep breath and screamed the battle cry of the Sons of the Phoenix: “From the fires of war, we rise!”

Rolling out from behind the truck, the closest of the chaos spawn was only a few paces away.  He sprinted toward it, nearly slipping in the mud as he did so.  The ugly, terrifying mutant rushed toward him, claws out and ready to rend flesh.  He pushed forward, feeling Dorn’s blessing as he obstinately moved forward with nothing but sheer stubbornness and his posthuman muscles.  He swung his purple right arm at the creature, his fist colliding with its largest eye.  His gauntlet sunk into it, soft flesh parting as he reached in.  His fist found something solid, and his fingers grasped tightly.  Many bladed limbs embraced him, all of them stopped by the ceremite of his power armor with an unholy scraping and clang.  Grasping whatever was inside the disgusting form, he pulled it out.  Through the haze that gave the marine tunnel vision, he found that he was looking at his gore-covered fist, clutching some kind of malformed heart.  He squeezed it like a sponge, watched the crimson liquids gush from its pores, then threw it to the ground.  Blood poured from the empty eye socket, but the creature was still clutching him tightly.

Grabbing two of the creature’s limbs, he pulled until they ripped free of the body.  He turned the bladed claws that were on the ends of the thing’s arms, and plunged both into the spawn.  It began to writhe and convulse.  Taking this opportunity to escape, Teas rolled away, escaping the hellish beast's grasp.  It was now visibly weakened and shaking.  Moving forward, his body collided with the wounded spawn, and it loudly collapsed backward into the mud.  Shaking, writhing in pain, it seemed unable to stand again.  Acting on instinct, Teas bent down, grasped the thing’s form in both hands, and slowly lifted it high off the ground.  His space marine genetics alone made the feat possible, and as a primaris marine, his size and strength were even greater.  He strained to stand up straight, and soon, he held the writhing mass aloft, noticing an up-turned working end of an industrial vehicle, he walked in that direction, and released the beast, impaling it on the construction vehicles forks.  They slid through the creature’s body and burst out the other side.  Its rapid and aggregated movements slowed to a near halt, and Teas decided that this was as close to death as it was ever going to get.

While admiring his handiwork, he was suddenly struck on his side, knocked several feet away and onto the ground.  Two more hell spawn stood before him, one covered in tentacles and teeth, the other a pin cushion of spines and claws, and they came rushing, bearing down on him.  From his position on the ground, he summoned every ounce of his genewrought might, and with a quick inhalation, teeth gritted, thrust his armored foot into the mass of tentacles.  He struck home, which prompted a toothy maw to open, a prehensile tongue surging forth to enwrap his ankle, dragging him into the nightmarish jaws of the abomination.  As he reached down at his leg to free himself, the second spawn rolled down onto Teas, forcing his body to sink into the mud.  Many claws took advantage of his phobos-pattern power armor’s vulnerabilities, digging into knees, elbows, and hips.  All the while, the maw gnawed on the marine’s leg, grinding its teeth on white ceremite.

Screaming a blood-curdling howl, Nonen rushed the mass of tentacles, burying his combat knife into the thing, and applying pressure using it as a leverage point to drag it down.  It released Teas’ leg, and the infiltrator re-claimed his limb, thankfully whole and relatively unharmed.  Still issuing his battle cry, the sniper repeatedly and forcefully stabbed the spawn, each return slice pulling arcs of blood trailing behind the blade.  When Teas focused on wrestling the second creature, Korrecht’s heavy bolt rifle rang out five shots, each explosive round ripping it to shreds.  Teas pushed against the convulsing mass on top of him, memories of the Invincible Chariot evoked.  As he gave all that he had, he slowly moved the mass to the side, and managed to stand.

Nonen was now on top of his target, both hands on his knife now, continuing to stab and stab the evil mutant.  Scanning the road, many more enemies lay dead or dying.  Korrecht was re-loading his weapon.  Some distance away, sergeant Keat struggled to battle a massive brutish behemoth covered in many human arms and bodies, as though it was some combination of several cultists.  It was tall, and possessed four powerful limbs, each ending in broad serrated claws.  Armed with his chainsword, Keat’s off-hand was positioned close to the top of the blade, behind the chain teeth, used to press the blade further into his target.  A liquid mess sprayed up and out as the chainsword revved loudly.  A crimson mist rising from the carnage into the air.  Now freed, Teas charged this new target, eying those bladed arms and taking note of the dangerous slices taken out of his sergeant’s armor.

        As he collided with the hellspawn, he wrapped both arms around one of its limbs and pried it with all the strength he could muster.  Whatever passed for the creature’s bone snapped in Teas’ arms, and the flesh ripped in a stringy fashion.  Rolling it deftly in his hands, the infiltrator now wielded the serrated blade as a personal melee weapon.  With it, he stepped back, ducking a broad slice from his opponent’s claw, and performed a slicing motion of his own, ripping an immense gash at the main mass of the behemoth.  This gash unfurled, and widened as the skin gaped open, gushing unidentifiable gore into an impressive pile, almost as though it were vomiting its organs and digestion tract into the mud.  While this transpired, Keat continued to push his chainsword, and had made great progress on his end.  The being was coming apart, wounds yawning as its meat split open.  Finally, Korrecht loosed a volley of bolt rounds into the abomination, bathing those nearby in an obscene fountain of blood and bile.

The squad stood in the now calm street amongst the many lifeless masses of flesh and bone.  They converged in the middle, allowing themselves a moment to catch their breath.  As exhausted as the marines might have been, this was a moment of great glory.  “Brothers,” Keat said, audibly out of breath, “kneel.”  Obediently, the marines did so, bowing their heads.

“We thank You, our Emperor, for granting us the strength to rend Your enemies apart.

In Your name, we have crushed Your enemies, and brought Your light to this cursed land.

We offer our lives to the Emperor; we pray that He accepts it.

We offer our strength to the Emperor; we pray that He redresses it.

We offer our blood to the Emperor; we pray that it quenches His thirst.

We offer our bodies on the altar of this battlefield; we pray He grants us a noble death.

We pray for His protection, as we offer all that we are.”

“In the Emperor’s name,” in unison.

Their spirits nourished, the marines rose and composed themselves.  Sparing the battlefield another glance, it was clear that they had won this skirmish.  Teas dropped his monstrous weapon, and in time, looked toward the government building.  “Sergeant,” he addressed, “I think I’ve solved our ammunition problem.”

From the moment the Invincible Chariot was struck with a marauder bomber’s heavy bomb, Teas had to consider the possibility that he would not live to see the battlefield proper.  Hope had never left his heart, and he never lost faith in his abilities, nor the light of the Emperor.  His task, however, was treacherous to the extreme.  Chaos manifestations, heavily-armed cultists, numerous chaos spawn, and all of this while wounded and nearly devoid of any sort of equipment.  Teas was a Son of the Phoenix, which meant that he was a crusader.  The Sons of the Phoenix march into battle under heavy resistance, against all odds, and in the flames of war, stood tall and victorious.  He knew this well.  It drove him to great heights.  All the same, the realist who lived in the infiltrator’s mind had cautioned the marine against considering success a certainty.  This arduous path was many kilometers long, and the longer he tread upon it, the more certain it seemed that he would not live to join his brothers in glorious combat.

The muddy road as they knew it was no more.  An incredible crater cut it off, and the structures on either side were entirely ruined.  In the distance, many machines of war were silhouetted, motionless, burning.  Peering through the scope of his empty bolt rifle, Teas could make out heavy battle in the distance.  Tracer rounds from heavy machineguns drew lines across the wreckage that once was the northern section of Nara settlement.  Whichever side belonged to the marines, the astra militarum, or the cultists was not possible to determine from this range.  It was clear, however, that both sides were firing on one another with an impressive quantity and quality of weapons.  Shells were exchanged, missiles streaked through the air, and many hand weapons delivered projectiles across the expanse that was no man’s land.

Teas slung his rifle, and retrieved the autocannon from the ground, its drum full of vehicle-stopping shells, and an elongated, jagged blade attached under the barrel as a makeshift bayonet.  Ever the sniper, Nonen had crudely fixed a scope onto his autocannon, and was peering through it just as the infiltrator had done.  Korrecht had plenty of ammunition, though alas, it was only compatible with his own heavy bolt rifle.  Keat, chainsword resting in its home on his shoulder, carried one of the heavy stubbers, additional magazines crudely fixed to his legs.  The squad was prepared with their pillaged weaponry and had issued the proper prayers required when pilfering arms from the enemy.  They paused only briefly to overlook the battlefield.

“It is time,” Keat announced.  “We will close with the battlefield at speed, determine the enemy position, and annihilate them.” 

Nodding in agreement, the group prepared to move out.  Keat raised his chainsword aloft, and the squad shouted in unison, “From the fires of war, we rise!”

Fast footfalls sped the marines down the crater, and the battlefield swayed in their vision.  They sprinted at top speed, fury pumping through their veins.  It was still not possible to determine which side was friendly, and so the marines simply made their way toward the battlefield, primed to attack the great enemy as soon as it presented itself.  As they closed, stray bullets and shells began flying in their direction, from both sides of the battle.  Clearly, the astra militarum, wherever they were, could not yet identify the marines as loyalists.  Ignoring these projectiles as only true sons of Dorn could, they continued to close at high speeds.  Nothing would slow their advance.  At least, nothing that they could see at that moment.

A brilliant flash of purple and yellow blinded all near the battle, and hostilities were on hold for the moment.  Assuming that this was like the lightning, Teas looked up.  The chaotic sky had begun to rotate above, spinning slowly, stray white and black spots blurring.  He felt as though he was being lifted off the ground, as though the warp was pulling him into its maw.  Lightning of every color continued to course through the cloudy blood red patterns.  His eyes returned to what lay ahead.  Something clearly appeared as his gaze was averted.  In the center of the battlefield was a large demon, not a random spawn, but a demon of large stature.  It unfurled its wings as it rose from its crouching position, as if being born into this reality.

It was a demon prince.  It had to be.  It showed every feature that fit the definition, as Teas recalled his education as an acolyte.  Its body was simply black, and veins of grey.  On its wings were many branded eight-pointed stars, wheels that hinted at the combined might of all four chaos gods.  The being, wielding two hammers, was indeed a demon prince of the chaos gods, an emissary to welcome the planet into the warp.  Upon manifesting fully it stood on both cloven hooves, its back arched, and it howled a mighty bellow.  This was no war cry.  It was angry, but at the same time sorrowful.  As the sonic blast pushed past the space marines, a psychic wind brushed their minds, implanting one foreign thought.

YOU BELONG TO US, MORTALS

“Dorn’s teeth!” Teas spat at the intruder.

A hammering chorus of heavy weapons fire erupted as the marines responded to the demon in the best way they knew, the only way they could, with fury and the Emperors holy wrath.  Autocannons issued shells through their smoothbores, the heavy stubber chattered, and the blasts from the heavy bolt rifles could be felt in the bones.  Nearly at the same time, the army on the left unleashed hell upon the Prince.  Blasts appeared on its body, and it contracted its arms to shield itself.  No visible damage was done.  By the time the squad had emptied their weapons, the demon prince’s defenses hit home in their minds.  There was some form of psychic barrier being deployed.  If anything was to happen, it lay beyond the scope of man-portable weapons.  There were only a few ways for infantry to confront this creature.  Being close to it would make precise counter-attacks difficult.  The marines exchanged glances, and even through helmeted heads, they knew they were on the same page.  After all, this tactic was written on a physical page in the sacred tome of the Codex Astartes.  Together, they charged toward the warpspawn.

Leaping over corpses, ruins, and no longer identifiable machinery, the quartet closed the distance.  The closer they were to the beast, the larger it became.  It might not have been of greater demon stature, but it was easily at least four times taller than the primaris marines.  The cursed demon prince looked in one direction, then another, and lastly, at the squad of marines.  Three groups were fast approaching.  On the right, cultists were rallying to the side of their unholy emissary.  On the other side was none other than Chaplain Cax, assigned to the Sons of the Phoenix third company.  Trailing behind him were three ministorum priests, armed with a variety of hand weapons.  Of course, the third group consisted of Teas, Keat, Nonen, and Korrecht, screaming defiance as they rushed this ambassador of chaos.

Wearing the lightest armor, and perhaps the most stubborn of the bunch, Teas reached the demon prince first.  Watching the white-armored marine approach striking distance, the beast turned, and swung one of his mighty accursed hammers.  Ducking low, the infiltrator narrowly avoided being ripped in half.  He dove for the beast’s right foot and jammed the greasy bayonet between two of its toes.  Uttering an annoyed grunt, it pulled the foot away, just in time to meet Keat’s chainsword, which dug at the demon prince’s ankle.  This time roaring in anger, he lifted the leg.  Korrecht stopped suddenly, mud piling up against his feet as he slid to a halt.  He hastily aimed his weapon, and blasted away at the leg that was still planted on the ground.  Growling a battle chant, he emptied the heavy bolt rifle’s magazine.  Close enough to be inside the psychic barrier, the flesh around its other ankle exploded, crippling the vile creature.  Slowly, he collapsed, slamming into the ground.  This happened just in time for Nonen to stab his combat knife into its skull.  With an enraged wail, it pulled its head away from the ground, taking the knife with it.

This distraction had allowed Chaplain Cax to reach the monster, and he delivered a mighty blow to its body with a gleaming crozius arcanum.  In response, the demon prince looked in the chaplain’s direction, and roared, pink fire issuing forth in an impressive warp-fueled flame.  The blaze engulfed the chaplain’s armor, even as he ignored the attack and continued to hammer with his mace.  The ministorum priests who had accompanied him were not so lucky and melted into the ground, crude piles of flesh and ignited robes.  When the infernal torrent ceased, its head snapped in the direction of the squad, blood red eyes burning with rage.  Still laying on the ground, it swung a hammer clumsily in their direction.  Korrecht, still reloading, and Nonen, were both caught in the blow, and were sent sailing through the air to collide with the deep mud.  Keat continued to dig into the beast’s flesh with his chainsword, and the irritated demon prince released its hammer, and gripped the sergeant in its powerful grasp.  Raising the marine high into the air, it squeezed.  Keat’s power armor protected him from this crushing grasp, but there was little he could do at this time.

Attempting to force the demon prince to release his battle brother, Teas continued to stab the beast’s legs with his makeshift bayonet.  Realizing the futility of this effort, his mind raced.  He studied the creature, still lying belly-down in the mud.  He watched a hammer blow barely miss the chaplain.  Chaos cultists were on their way, so swift action was required.  His eyes finally rested on the knife in the demon prince’s skull.  Desperately, Teas climbed the huge warrior, grasping onto armor plates and decorative piercings even as his grip slipped, covered in mud as he was.  He had reached the thing’s back, and at that time, it had decided to attempt to stand.  Teas reached out, took hold of the braid of black hair that dangled between its wings.  Slowly, he climbed, grateful for the distraction the others executed as more marines joined the fray.  Its massive wings began to beat, faster and faster.  Soon it would be airborne, and Teas could not allow this to happen.  He scaled the braid quickly, reaching the beast’s head.  It turned to look the infiltrator in the eye, perhaps understanding what Teas had in mind.  In a flash of movement, the infiltrator pulled himself up the final length, grasping the knife still buried in the demon prince’s skull.  He pulled himself up further to achieve better leverage, unslung his bolt rifle, and brought the butt of the weapon down onto the combat knife.  He struck again, and again.  The knife drove further into its bony sheath as the marine hammered away.  Releasing its second hammer, the demon prince wailed in pain, and reached with both hands to remove the arrogant marine.  With one final strike, the blade was up to its hilt.  In the same instant, two powerful hands ensnared the marine, and sent him down into the mud in front of the beast at great speed.  Teas ground his teeth as new pain appeared, he believed he heard a snap, and he suspected that his leg was broken.

This was all the Sons of the Phoenix needed.  Chanting a battle hymn, the many forms of primaris marines, now close enough to threaten the great enemy, unleashed bolter fire and plasma bolts.  While the knife to the brain did not slay the beast, it seemed to have affected its psionic concentration.  The barrier was down, and the bolts ripped the demon prince apart.  With its wings now mangled, flight was no longer a possibility.  It struggled as it was peppered with explosive ammunition, and looked around frantically, seeking safety somewhere on this battlefield.  Finally, as punctuation for this battle, the heavy laser destroyer from a repulsor executioner bore through its chest, leaving the profound sight of the massive demon bearing a hole in its body wide enough for a biker to pass through.  It uttered a low growl, stood motionless for a time, then leaned forward, its face buried in the ground.

Teas struggled to stand, his power armor assisting the movements of his now clearly broken leg, which brought blinding pain to the infiltrator.  When he was finally upright, he realized that he was standing before chaplain Cax, whose purity seals and garments were burned away, but this black armor was otherwise untouched by the demonic flame he had stood firm against.

“Brother Teas,” the chaplain addressed the marine.  How he could have identified the infiltrator through the battle damage, mud, and blood was not known.  “Time is short.  Brothers, join me, for our enemy approaches.

O eternal Emperor,

who alone watches us,

and rules the tides and storms,

be compassionate to Your servants,

preserve us from the perils of the warp,

that we may be a safeguard to the domain of men.”

The Prayer of Safe Return, Teas identified, as he thought the lines to the prayer as they were dictated.  We do not traverse the warp, and yet we do today.  He no longer needed to look upon the sky.  It bore little importance on the outcome of the war.  He could hear the cultists approach and did not consider the sudden battlefield prayer to be a waste of time.  There was always time for prayer, always time to beseech the Emperor of Man for His blessings.  How else were his angels of death to conquer the ruinous powers of chaos?

There was no doubt that the Sons of the Phoenix could still win this war and accomplish victory in this crusade.  Teas had seen the incredible firepower from the ships in orbit, had witnessed the ferocity of the loyal forces from a distance and was finally reunited with the battle brothers conducting this important assault on the lost and the damned.  Finally, they had defeated the emissary of chaos.  With all these factors in their favor, victory would be had.  The planet could not be saved, but it would be burned.  Let the warp collect a lifeless rock.  Let it gaze upon the corpses of its puppets.  Allow the chaos gods to witness the might of the adeptus astartes, sons and servants of the God Emperor.

His attention returned to the fight at hand, and he noticed an intercessor offering him one of his full magazines.  Thirty bolts, he thought, and accepted the gift, sliding it home into his borrowed bolt rifle.  Heretics to shoot, he remembered requesting what seemed like a lifetime ago.  My Emperor, You never fail me.

Afterthought

                Two intercessors, an infiltrator, and a heavy intercessor walk into a settlement, and strike up a discussion about how best to defend the Imperium.

                The infiltrator, used to being behind enemy lines, says, “it’s simple.  I draw a circle around myself in the mud.  Anything inside the circle is pure, and everything outside is impure and must be purged.”

                The two intercessors agree that this makes sense, but they are used to the prospect of capturing ground.  One of them says, “we draw a line in the mud in front of us.  Everything on our side of the line has been purged in the Emperor’s name, and everything on the other side of the line needs to be purged.”

                The three agree that a lot of things need to be purged.  Then, the heavy intercessor interjects, “I just shoot my heavy bolt rifle.  Anything that gets hit gets purged, and anything that didn’t get hit needs to be purged.”

                The infiltrator and two intercessors cautiously agree with this sentiment, and simultaneously call for the check.

Yes.  I ended my submission with a “…walked into a bar” joke.