It started as a whispering that would’ve been imperceptible to mortal ears.
Vitrani, on point, signalled to the column behind him. “Watch it. We’re not alone.” With a subtle shift of posture the marines moved to a higher state of alert. Artonius came forward to his position.
“What is it?”
Silently, Vitrani pointed upwards to the shattered and darkened windows above them. A few dirty faces peered cautiously down at them, at first only bobbing up momentarily for a glance, then re-emerging for longer looks. The whispers grew in volume and transitioned into a chorus of ragged cheers and prayers to the Emperor.
“Stay on guard!” Vitrani snapped into the vox. “Even if these are civilians there may be cultists hidden amongst them.”
There was a sudden movement ahead of them and Vitrani instantly snapped off a shot that would have connected had Artonius not reacted even faster and knocked the barrel sideways.
“That is a child!”
The child in question had frozen in terror, a trickle of blood running down her cheek, cut by shrapnel from the bolt shell that had impacted the wall just beside her.
Vitrani did not lower his combi-weapon. “You think it beneath The Enemy to use children as weapons, brother?”
Artonius regarded the child. She appeared unarmed. “What’s she going to do, brother? Cry on us?”
An older man came running from a side-passage and flung himself in front of the young girl, prostate before the marines with his hands outstretched in the sign of the aquila. He wore the tattered remains of the uniform of an administratum clerk.
“Lords! Lords! Please spare this one! She is my granddaughter! She is all I have left! She was only excited to see a real angel! Take me, if you will spare her!”
Artonius glanced sidelong at Vitrani. “I think I’ll risk it,” he said. “Stand down Vitrani, that’s an order.”
He moved forward to the old man and knelt, gently helping him to his feet. “Rise, venerable one,” he said, to a man at least fifty years his junior. “Loyal subjects of the Emperor have nothing to fear from us.”
“Oh, thank you Lord! Thank you!” The man was weeping. “You have come to deliver us! She said you would, and you have!”
The faces in the windows had vanished at the report of the bolter, but now gradually returned. The cheering grew again as the watchers saw the Blood Angels with the unharmed man and child.
Artonius stayed kneeling so that their eyeline would be level now the old man was on his feet. “I apologise for my friend. He worries there may be heretics that hide among your people.”
“There were, Lord! But she found them… The Oracle… The Emperor guided her to those among us with darkness in their hearts and… and… they were expunged! Burned out! Only the faithful remain here now.”
“We come here seeking others of our kind. Have any other astartes with our heraldry been through this sector?”
The old man shook his head. “No, my Lord, we have seen no other Angels. But the Oracle… she foresaw your coming! She knows of your mission! If anybody can help find your compatriots it is her! Come, I will lead you to her!”
Artonius glanced back at Vitrani, who rolled his eyes.
“Very well, lead on.”
***
The municipal plasma generator had been bombed to dust two weeks ago and this sector of the city had been dark ever since – backup power supplies diverted to the more affluent uphive regions. Despite this the chapel was filled with a warm glow, lit by a multitude of candles arrayed in row after row like the Emperor’s armies on parade. Servo-skulls and Cherubim drifted lazily back and forth, replacing those which had burned too low. Despite the many privations near-constant war had brought to Hive Volcanus, there was plenty of corpse-tallow for candles.
Serona prayed that the Emperor’s real armies should prove similarly inexhaustible. She knelt before the altar, shaven head bowed.
No mandated service was in progress, yet the pews were nearly full. More and more the local citizens were choosing to spend their limited rest periods here, sheltering both literally and metaphorically in the light and protection of their faith. It was a blessing that such periods were so mercifully short, or else there might have been an overcrowding problem.
Serona finished her prayer, stood and turned to face the chapel’s entryway. She had seen this moment in the dreams the Emperor sent her, and so she was not surprised when the space marines came through the archway. The same could not be said for her parishioners, who let out cries of both alarm and rapture at the sight. The increasing hubbub almost – almost – drowned out the thump of ceramite boots on marblete as the two astartes advanced down the central aisle, led by Petitioner Lathias.
She watched them approach, taking the opportunity to see how the real sight matched with her dream-impressions. In the flesh they were… grotesque. Scarred, brutal, over-large. A caricature of the holy human form. Were they not the work of the Emperor himself she would dismiss them as mere abhuman mutants. But, looking more closely at their faces, buried deeply, she caught a glimpse of something more; a hint of the grace and nobility of their ancient forebear, the Great Angel Sanguinius. Within these blunt instruments was a spark of the divine.
Humanity must be sacrificed in order to preserve Humanity. This was the unspoken creed at the very heart of the Imperium of Man. For these astartes the sacrifice had been a little more personal than most. She would not begrudge them that.
As they approached she raised her arms in greeting. “You are welcome here, Angels of the Blood.”
The Dark One held back while Golden One came forwards. “I am Lieutenant Artonius. You are the one they call The Oracle?”
She grimaced. “I do not care for that title. My power comes from The Emperor, it is not my own. You may call me Parona, Lord Artonius. ”
“You are a priest of the Ministorum?”
“I have not been officially ordained, no. But the last minister of this chapel fled before the Ork incursion into this sector three summers ago. Someone had to provide spiritual guidance to the people here. They chose me. But to answer your next question; yes I will do what I can to help you to find your missing brethren.”
The Golden One seemed taken aback. “How did you know-?”
“The Emperor sometimes sees fit to reveal to me things which will come to pass. I have seen that you would come, and that our fates would intertwine.”
The Dark One stepped forwards. “Careful, brother. This woman is either a charlatan or an unsanctioned psyker, likely in league with our enemies.”
Parona smiled. “Lord Vitrani. I have seen you also. I am sorry for your pain. Such a long time, alone in the darkness. But I am no witch and you need have no fear of heretics here.”
Vitrani did not seem appeased by this. He towered over Serona, his hands resting on the hilts of his combat knives. “So you say.”
“Do you not believe in the power of the Emperor, Lord Vitrani?”
“We are the power of the Emperor, Witch!”
Artonius placed a palm against his battered chest plate. “Calm yourself, brother. After all, did the Emperor not grant our Lord Sanguinius the gift of foresight? Do not many of our own chapter share that same gift? What she claims is not impossible. Such powers are not always unholy.”
After a moment, Vitrani relented. “Very well. We may as well hear what trap she means to lead us into.”
Artonius flashed an apologetic smile towards Sarona. “I am sorry, Priestess. You were saying something about our fates being intertwined? Does that mean you can help us?”
“Perhaps. I have had visions that may relate to your quest. I will share them with you. But first I must ask something of you. In the Emperor’s name; save my people!”
“Save them? How?”
“A heretic army of the worst kind of daemon-worshippers marches this direction. If they are not stopped I see the city aflame, its people slaughtered. I ask – the Emperor demands – that you stand bulwark against this tide of filth that calls itself the Scions of Scripture!”
“The Scions…” Artonius murmured. These were the same Chaos warband that they had been forced to retreat from days before. Here was a chance to avenge that ignomony…
Vitrani clearly spied the thought written across his face. “Brother, this is not our mission,” he warned sternly. “To risk our remaining forces for little more than the promise of a half-gelt tarot reader…”
“If the wellbeing of the Imperiums citizens and the sanctity of its cities is not enough for you, Lord Vitrani, I can offer a more concrete incentive: There is a broadcast relay a short distance away that might be repurposed to help you communicate with your brethren. Members of my congregation are on the maintenance crew. Of course, if the city burns…”
Artonius pulled Vitrani aside. “Send out scouts. Verify everything she’s told us. If it checks out, and if we see an advantageous vector of attack, we will engage.”
“I still don’t like this, Artonius.”
“Neither do I. She could be an enemy plant, I agree. I am taking nothing she says on trust. But at this point… we need all the help we can get.”
***
Serona had never been in a battle before, even though she was in the presence of them constantly. But she had insisted, against Vitrani’s objections, that she stand alongside the Blood Angels. She felt it was what the Emperor desired of her. Besides, this was her home and after so long living in the shadow of war she felt a fierce hunger to see the enemies of the Imperium brought low with her own eyes.
She lay amongst rubble, behind a squad of Terminators. Even crouched as they were they towered above her, their red bulk radiating menace. One careless move from any of them and she would be utterly crushed.
A ripple ran through the squad, a subtle elevation of readiness. A few moments later she could hear it too; the distant roar of engines. Carried with it, growing louder and softer with the tides of the wind, came a strange ululating chant to the glory of profane gods. It made her skin crawl and bile rise to hear it.
Another sensation accompanied it – a sense of movement, of being watched. Not from the far-off tanks of the Word Bearers, but closer, from within these very ruins. If she squinted almost to the point of closing her eyes, she felt she could make out dim shapes coming towards them through the rubble.
“There’s-”
“SILENCE.” One of the Terminators rasped at her through its vox-grill.
The shapes were moving faster, coming closer now. “Look!”. She pointed, and as she did so ghastly loping forms melted out of the air, jagged swords made of shadow already swinging to embed themselves in Terminator plate.
“DAEMONS. STAND BACK.” The marines rumbled forwards to engage the neverborn.
Despite the interruption the ambush proceeded as planned. A squad of marines armed with plasma weapons rushed out of cover, sending forth superheated streams of ionised gas that combined with melta beams disintegrated the front half of an oncoming heretic Land Raider.
The Loyalists’ own Land Raider roared forth, preceded by waves of flame that incinerated the misshapen wretches that spilled out of the wreckage.
Someone was singing. A glorious hymn in praise of the Emperor. After a few seconds Serona realised it was her. She gunned the motor of her Vindictor and ran forwards, spinning chainblade held forwards to stab into the guts of a screeching daemon. Caustic blood sprayed out and stung her skin, but she barely felt it, or the terror of facing such vile foes, overwhelmed as she was in a strange religious bliss.
She had worshipped the God-Emperor all her life, but here, she realised, was the ultimate form of worship. No form of devotion could be higher or more pure than in bringing violence and death to the Emperor’s enemies. Her past life of piety, even the few heretic cultists she had put to the pyre, seemed like such paltry offerings in comparison.
She looked to the marines around her, heard their grunts and cries of exertion and exhilaration and knew that they felt it too, a hundred times stronger. This was their life – their entire purpose.
For a moment, she envied them.
+++After-action report+++
Mission: The Razing of Hive Infernus (Custom crusade end-of-phase mission)
Forces: Blood Angels vs Word Bearers
Result: Blood Angels victory, 88-13
Victory Pointless 
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