> The Burning Rage
>  by LupusDominus
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue: Isstvan Massacre
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The year was zero-zero-five, millennia thirty-one. It was just another day. About as close to paradise as one could get, some might've even said. At least, that's what the Eaters of Worlds might've spoken, as they sped earthward from high orbit. Descending like brutal, screaming swords. Neigh, more like revving, vicious axes. Aimed to pillage and slaughter, with utmost desire to purge and destroy the vile Heretics that lay below them. 
Nevertheless, even restrained by the, arguably by their standards, pointless protection systems; the legendary, feared warriors of the World Eaters Legion were itching for the doors to open. To let out and express their extreme hatred and vicious anger to the poisonous yellow skies and dead, grey soil. They were here, by the Warmaster's orders to purge and crush the infamous rebellion of Isstvan III's treacherous population.
Even now, the blood boiled in every marine's hearts and bodies as they hurtled to the surface. Their target, generally speaking, had been to land enmasse to the outskirts of the Hive world's capital city, Khry Vanak and regroup to assault the fortress city before it could react to mount a defense. Although, the warriors of Angron thought little of the mortals they were to callously murder in the name of their Emperor; they did desire to have at least, some form of good battle. To hope these mere mortals would prove worthy of their, more brutal attentions.
Rarely ever, however, was it that simple. Although, by far, as the first drop pods slammed harshly into the stinking, industrially wasted landscape; this was still as close to paradise as the World Eaters could hope for. Burning skies, soft, sludgy soil, and a stinging, scorching torrent of rain to make the fighting interesting. The thick smog from the belching factories and industrial waste dumps made visibility down to mere meters from each other as the bloodied, white and dark blue armor of the drop pod doors sizzled open and fell to the earth.
The massive, imposing, frightening visages of the nightmarish, blood soaked battle plate of the Legiones Astartes emerged out of the darkness. Clutched in their huge, gilded gauntlets were chainswords and chain-axes. Their shield arms carried the large plating with which to guard against all but the strongest attacks. Their helmet lenses glared darkly, as they stared out in their ragtag squads of five to ten mighty marines.
Communiques were travelling between each Astartes wordlessly. Their vox beads lighting up in their hud systems as they discussed how they planned to invade and butcher these traitorous creatures in their own fortified redoubts. There was not a single doubt in the purity of their purpose; the surety that their cause was just and right. Not a passing thought or tear was shed among them, as they began to charge towards the heavy, tall, dull walls of the capital hive city. Their weapons revving with the same bloodlust they held and the contempt for their enemies that was absolute. Not a single soul that had turned from the Emperor's light would be spared today.
Every poor bastard on the planet would be sentenced to exterminatus. But not like those pitiful fools who dared use such worthless weapons like orbital bombardment or virus bombings. This would be good old fashioned one by one, room by room scouring and slaughtering of the defenders and their people. And this would be another notch in the Axes of the Eaters of Worlds as they tore closer and closer to the unsuspecting walls. 
Most notable among these forces, would be Captain Gailus of the World Eaters Fourth Company. Leading his warriors to battle with a horrifying battle cry that shook the earth, he stood at the precipice of more glories to his name. Clad in masterfully crafted Cattiphractii Terminator armor, he stood with a huge two handed chain-axe clutched in his massive gauntlets as he growled and looked upwards at the walls. Without much care, he shouldered the mighty weapon and began to slam his fists into the wall. Using his superhuman strength, he created makeshift gripping areas with which for him to start climbing. 
His fellow Brothers doing much the same near him. His Grand Company of assault specialists well known for their tactics of swift, brutal attacks. Utilizing direct methods that complimented their insane, raging strength to propel them to greater feats of battle and tactics. Shock, awe, and bloody murder were chief among these prized goals. And the Fourth Company had honed these skills for many, many years. They were sharp as the blades they carried; and so well versed in the art of their warfare, that the first the heretics knew of the World Eaters arrival was when the Hundred Astartes of Gailus were caving skulls and smashing bodies of soldiers into bloody paste.
The screams of the defenders was like sweet, soft music to the Space Marines of Angron, as they bathed in the gore of their unfortunate foes. Their armor becoming painted freshly crimson, despite the acidic rain eating at the rapidly coagulating fluid. It seemed to stain deeper than any acidic substance could hope to remove, as Gailus charged with a furious cry. His weapon raised in challenge to the soldiers who began to form their ranks. Before he could worry for the wasted lives of these heretics, several other brothers of his Company leapt over the walls and tore into these formations of soldiers with zeal and bloodlust.
The time of surprise, was finally gone. Just as the Captain savored most, as he despised the concept of his enemies not being able to futilely resist his will. More than his will; his desire, his need, his insatiable hunger and bloodlust for the death of these Traitors. Few things could hope to challenge such a rage to him; the only thing that could, begrudgingly he would admit, match him, was that of his Primarch's deep seated anger. Regardless, he stood with his brothers as valiantly as even the Ultramarines, as they slid down the walls of the fortress city.
His men were already among the civilians. These bastards; who had accepted, embraced even, the traitorous ways of their government. They were complicit just as much with the Heresy as any of the corrupt officials who had organized the overthrow of the Imperials stationed here. He would stand no less for these soft, squishy little mortals, who were peddling about as if nothing different had occurred since they fled from the light of the Emperor.
And so it was that, beneath his heavy helmet, he held a perverse smile. Watching these pitiful excuses for human light be sliced and ripped to torn shreds and chunks of flesh and bone was satisfying to him on a personal level. Especially when they begged for their wasteful lives like Traitorous dogs. That was the best part, as he broke into a hab unit. His immense form tearing through permacrete and plas-steel like butter. His chain-axe revving madly as he was becoming, as he pulped the first human he saw. 
It had been an older man, the first he had met and slain. His face was contorted in surprise and sheer terror. The sight, as his wrinkled expression withdrew in pain from the force of his fist colliding with his soft face was brilliant. A symphony all its own, as he watched his head turn to mist. Leaving his body wracked with spasms of the shock of such a quick death. It was too good for these mortals, but an acceptable one if the Legion was to retain its zealous swiftness in cleansing the city by nightfall.
The next he charged, seemed a slightly more youthful woman. Probably around her forties in Terran years. Far too bad her beauty was Heretical, he actually considered, as his axe was biting into her midsection. Her innards falling out and truly making her as beautiful as any art piece to him. Much better, as he listened to her shrieks and eventually her whimpers of agony.
"Music, sweet music" He mused aloud. Letting her hear his grizzled, horrifying deep tones as he raised his hefty greave above her face before stomping so hard the floor cracked. Only mush of her head and shards of bone clung to his armored boot, as he moved on. Butchering his way slowly up the huge, complex spire with the same, simple glee written on his hidden face.
But he was no simple, barbarous butcher. For he knew despite his orders and his personal feelings; there was one true thing he would not corrupt himself with. and when he was near the top of the spire he was cleansing, he was met face to face with it. There, as he broke into the cramped, filled room of what he would've considered traitors like usual, laid dozens of small children. He tore himself quickly from his rage, merely standing there. Slathered with gore of thousands. Chunks of organs, skin, and bone plastered on his armor. He lowered his weapon, despite the anger and the butcher's nails screaming at him to continue the slaughter, he resisted that urge.
He simply stood there, watching these tiny humans flee from him to the far wall. Gathered in a bunch behind a single young woman. Her face frightened, but holding firm. Her hair was tied back, and her grey eyes were not dull like the drones he had slain prior. A hint of valor was there, courage to be sure. Even in her rags for clothes; she shielded these children against the presumed monstrous, wrathful Terminator Captain. She had a lot more courage than even some of his Brothers might.
Even the Captain reckoned that, were he on a level playing field with this poor mortal, he would have a good fight on his hand, as he slowly sheathed his mighty chain-axe. This briefly put surprise on the woman's face, before she spat at him angrily.
"You're not hurting these kids while I draw breath, monster." She snarled.
The sentiment almost made Gailus laugh. This tiny bitch truly had spunk, he could give her that as well. He clutched his chestplate before slowly removing his helm. Revealing the scarred, vicious and wicked face of a brutal killer. Somehow, maintaining a sense of ease and calm in the face of the current situation, his face could still, in a way, still be considered handsome. With its chiseled structure shaping up like a regent on an old coin. And his eyes, though black, had flecks of crimson that were attractive in this calmed state.
"If I wanted your poor wretches dead, you wouldn't have even been able to utter those words, wench." He retorted at last, making her look at him with a tilt of her head. "But I'm in a good mood, and I have no taste to murder children. So I will tell my men to restrict themselves from killing them. And direct them into your care. Consider this place your internment camp until I can determine guilt or innocence."
He could see this was a bit more than the mere, tiny human could ever hope for. But she still bore anger. "How many families did you kill today? How many will you murder? You are still a monster, even if you think you're doing the Emperor's work. Because you're killing His people."
"You and your people rebuked the right to be the Emperor's people the moment you agreed to secede from the Imperium." He growled quietly, tapping his hand on the mighty axe on his back. "Unless you want to torment these kids by watching your gruesome death, do not insult my intellect again or question my purity of purpose."
She fell silent at that, as he replaced his helmet. Speaking to his Brothers through his vox bead directly to their heads up displays. There were gripes, of course; but these were understood, as updated feeds showed them sparing those that could reasonably be considered children and single guardians for each of the groups they forcibly ordered back to his current position. He was pleased with this, and also ordered his subordinate, Sergeant Zafel, to stand guard and watch the primary entrance to the building.
He left the woman, on a parting word. "May you well remember your vows to the Imperium, harpy. Lest I devour everything you care for as we will this World." 
He departed, and marched back down the spire staircase. Meeting his Sergeant briefly to ensure he understood his directives. Thankfully, Zafel was more like him. Bred and born of Terran stock. He was hardy, strong, and very controlled in his emotions for the most part. Even more so than him, which was surprising. He was a wise, aged veteran of hundreds of campaigns. Weathered, but unbroken. Even by the butcher's nails that both were implanted with, he held to a stern, taciturn nature that was very unlike the majority of their Legion.
"I trust you know what you are doing, Captain." Zafel merely stated, in a more unamused fashion than with any anger.
"I know enough, Sergeant. Your objections are already noted. We discussed this on my way down." He replied, smiling a bit behind his helmet.
"Just do not leave me with these pitiful mortals too long. I might grow fond of them." Zafel and the Captain shared a small laugh, before embracing briefly in a warrior's grip at the elbow and shoulder.
"I will do my best to ensure my killing edge cleanses this filth by nightfall at worst." He honored his Sergeant's words, nodding in respect before steadily walking from the hab block with a thunderous advance.
The streets were filled with blood and death. Rivers running into the drains on the edge of the cobbled roads. 							Buildings were burning or in shambles, and the chunks of human corpses were piled to chest height of even his mighty frame. He thought nothing of it, as he dismissed the terrified gazes of the poor, unfortunate mortals who were leading columns of terrified, screaming, whimpering children past him to the internment block. Today was a glorious day for him, as he received reports that the lower spires and the underhive was already mostly cleared. Additional forces from other squads had done well as they had. And the hours were ticking by, as he marched to rejoin his own squad at the current frontline.
The streets were being crisscrossed with huge volleys of las-fire. The defenders were fully woken up by this point, and had organized their militia troops and traitor Army forces into disciplined ranks. They had established strong points along highways. Fortified spires and blocked off streets with trenches, bunkers, and sandbag positions. Heavy bolters raked the line, and leman russ battle tanks were dug in hull down, blasting away at the cover of the advancing World Eaters he led to war. The rattling of lasguns and autoguns pattered off of even the lighter power armored marines under his command; but those tanks could make short work of them if they let their berserker fury get the better of their tactics.
Thankfully, the Captain had taught them well. And so narry a single Astarte had managed to fall in battle yet as they navigated the cratered street they were fighting for. Heading upwards, fighting brutally through the well placed defenses like vicious savages. Leaving smoking wrecks, impaled soldiers crying their last breaths to the heavens on broken rebar and their own weaponry. In this time, however, a stray heavy bolter round had managed to catch in a chink of Gailus' armor, detonating and stumbling the mighty Terminator a few steps back.
He simply winced, looking at the heavily damaged area before scoffing. The shell had not armed in the correct time to take it off or shatter the vertebrae in his spine. Virtually, most of his sustained damage was flesh and muscle, for the detonation had blown out from his back. Thus, he was mostly safe for the time being. He howled in primordial rage and charged at the bunker that had caused it. A few grenades, and he reduced it to rubble. Bashing his way in afterwards and coating the walls in blood before exiting. The wound he suffered, externally at least, had already started to scar over and seal. Preventing further blood loss as he focused his mind and channeled his body to control any unnecessary internal bleeding.
He growled, noting in the time that he had destroyed the bunker, that one of his Brothers displays in his helm was flashing critical. He stormed forward, moving to the signal and watching as the mortally wounded man he was leading stood. The warrior he had stood with for many campaigns was on his last leg; fighting amidst a horde of militia and soldiers that were blasting away at him. He struck out with furious vengeance against his foes, lashing with axe and shield like a fighter of legend. The enemy were stalwart and dedicated though, stabbing and prying at his battleplate with their bayonets. Keeping him locked in place in melee. He ran with all haste that he could, trying to spare his Brother such a foul fate of death by these Traitors, when something more gave him intense pause.
Impact. He felt impact. The kind of blast that was something no mere gun could provide. One he knew well, as he turned from the fighting and looked outwards. From his position on the street, he could see out in the far distance of the surrounding lands a great, terrible mist beginning to rapidly rise and spread. Already he could smell it, even without his protective helmet or enhanced sensory systems that it had. And if he could smell it, then it would not be long before he would feel the horrifying taste of it.
The fickle taste, of Death. A slow, yet strangely rapid death. One that ripped and tore through any life even faster than the supreme efficiency of the finest butchers in the Imperium.
"Fucking FUCKERRRRRS!" He shouted, both over the vox beads and personally for all to hear. Drawing a quiet over the hive, as his Brothers paused their brutal, hand to hand fights and moved with all haste to regroup.
"Captain," Zafel greeted over the vox. "Get to cover. Find a sealed bunker. Fast." Was all he said before his transmission cut out. Interference most likely. as he knew the old Sergeant was not stupid or dulled to what was coming. 	
He could assume in seconds that they had minutes at best. Only minutes, before their death would come if they did not withdraw to safe positions.
"What's the nearest hermetically sealed bunker in this block?" Gailus asked to his Brothers, of which there were still eight out of his ten. No one had fallen, although the one brother he had tried to spare was still critical on his display. He moved with grace, and shouldered the man without accepting his protests. His seven brothers formed a defensive spearhead, and silently led the Captain to the closest facility they could locate from their own map displays.
"We will breach and clear Captain," A veteran Brother said, with  cold calmness as he hefted his chainsword and bolt pistol.
They stood at the blast doors, in the basement of a shop. Marked still with Imperial insignia, he felt curious of why it was not changed yet. The answer he was given was surprising, as he watched the doors open almost in a welcoming way. He stood with his Marines face to face with dozens of Guardsmen. All with lasguns levied in rank. But they yielded almost instantly, as if recognizing them as friendlies.
"Get in here Astartes!" A man, dressed in an officer's cap and flak armor shouted. The man bore the Aquila on his armor, and the regimental number of the Isstvan III's fifty-second regiment.
Not the question a bloodless, quick way in, the Captain ushered his Brothers forward before the doors began to seal again. If anything went haywire, they could just as easily butcher these poor bastards as they had been doing in the streets. So he didn't worry overmuch as he laid his Brother down against a wall and ordered him to tend his wounds.
"Who are you?" He rumbled aloud, drawing his chain-axe in a casually defensive manner.
"Honored Marines," The older man, whom he could identify as a Colonel, saluted, "We are all that's left of the Loyal elements of the Isstvan III Fifty-Second Firehawks. We've been fighting for years alone, trying to liberate our world from these Heretics."
"Lucky we didn't slaughter you bastards then." Gailus surprisingly chuckled, "We were ordered by the Warmaster to obliterate all Traitors on this world."
"Is that why Exterminatus was declared?" The good Colonel thumbed to a pict-screen, indicating the current look from a camera system situated out on the surface streets. "Those are virus bombs aren't they? Life eater virus. That's why you lot fled to our bunker. To safeguard from it."
"We didn't call that order in. We had the situation well in hand to destroy every trace of traitors here." Gailus retorted, his face contorted in a hidden snarl of anger at the assumption. "World Eaters purge by hand, not by those technological, biological abominations."
"Well someone did it. and I don't thick they were exactly Loyal to your ways as you claim."
The thought hit the Captain like a sinking stone. The only forces that were currently in orbit were the Emperor's Children, the Death Guard, the Sons of Horus, and his own Legion. No other forces were alive in system to resist or even carry a payload that could launch exterminates of the grade he knew was currently taking the planet like a firestorm outside.
"I can't believe that." Was all he could say, as he stood at the precipice of a new understanding. One he could scarcely stomach, and neither could his Brothers. Their expressions hidden by helmets; but he could tell there was a fire deep in their eyes. A Burning Hatred, the likes of which could never be found in any other Astartes save their Legion.
"Better believe it." The Colonel turned on his heel, and ordered his ragtag band of soldiers to begin preparing an area to accommodate the Captain's Astartes. "You better get comfortable here. That bombing will take a day at least I figure until it is burned out enough to be safe for even your breed of warrior to safely venture."
Gailus finally nodded, and crouched down into a meditative state. Focusing and husbanding the internal agony and rage he felt deep within. Something not even the butcher's nails could even dream of achieving in his soul. He swore death and vengeance upon all those who had turned from him and his Brothers today. All who had condemned his loyal following to die for a fruitless war so needlessly. In that state, almost like a trance, he caught a glimpse of a strange vision. One that melded his rage into an oddly calmed serenity. A perfect mixture, that he could only grasp for moments.
A world, verdant by many ways of  consideration. Reminding him primarily of old Terra. Perhaps a vision of his past, he figured. Something his brain tried to do perhaps, to soothe his ailed mind. He could not help, but feel the oddity of it, as it seemed so serene and peaceful compared to all the horrors of the galaxy he had not only been privy to; but actively participated in during his service to the Emperor. It seemed silly almost, to see such peace in a mind filled only with war and hate. But for a brief second, he allowed it. As he took note of only a few other things off in the far distance. 
Obscured though they were by the edges of this vision, he could perceive the brick and wooden structure of buildings. Possibly some more medieval Imperial world, he reckoned. With laborious fields being worked by figures and strange, smallish creatures he vaguely recalled were equine in nature.
In this vision, he was bereft of every thought of anger he had; until the reality of destruction weighed on his mind and he snapped from his trance. He could smell the cold, unyielding steel of the bunker. Taste the blood in his mouth from his own cheek. His blood, he had drawn by straining to stay in that pointless vision. His seething rage had returned, and he could smell the acrid stench of the sludge that blocked the bunker doors. Despite them being sealed expertly, his enhanced senses could still faintly detect it. It was terrible, as in that sludge, he knew lay consigned the fates of many thousands of great warriors and Heretics alike. Brothers, and enemies. Mingled together in death.
A hard shaking back to the true nature of things, as he stood again and eyed his Brothers. All of whom were standing, even the one he had brought in so critically injured. He had healed in due time. So it was that likely hours had passed; despite how it had felt like simple moments in time. He wasn't surprised. Visions came to him often. He was one of the few who had survived the procedures of the butcher's nails that was psychically attuned. Very few ever did. And his visions usually did last for hours when he meditated or was in prayer. Typically giving him glimpses of glories to come. But here, he had been left, a single question to ponder; as he glared at the blast doors and waited for them to be able to be opened again.
"Where will we go if our Legion and the Warmaster has turned their backs on us?"
> Chapter 1: To the Last Man
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The time passed with a slowness that would've made even the most patient of men near mad with restlessness. Stuck, deep underground in a hermetically sealed plasteel and permacrete box. Locked up tighter than an Imperial noble's virgin daughter on a pleasure world, with nothing of the Legion's preferred pastimes to at least provide distraction. Distraction was certainly something each Legionnaire would've wished for; as anything would've been better than the simmering fury that seemed to radiate from each of the monstrously armored men as they sat or stood in their temporary quarters. Even these rooms, which had been cordially provided to the Astartes, were cramped by their very nature.
These were facilities clearly designed for normal sized humans in mind; not at any point were they to have been considered for usage by the Space Marines in any way, shape, or form. The roof was just barely clearing for even the smallest among their towering marines, and if they stood to the center of the rooms and reached out to either side, they could touch the walls with ease. The beds were far too small to lay upon, the chairs too small for their frames to use. And desks were simply too cluttered with old crates; just as much of the floors were in other spaces. In the room Gailus had been provided, this was much the same.
The Captain sat on the bunk he was left with, and had pondered for some time. Lost in the depths of his thoughts and anger. How all this had come to fruition underneath his nose, when he was one of the more favored commanders of his Legion; this had left him somewhat torn by comparison. He felt that he should've seen through the veil; that he should've known better and taken actions to protect his soldiers. Or at the very lest try to stop the unfolding treachery from ever happening in the first place. Very well if he could've at least challenged his Primarch on the issue; even if he was pounded to bloody pulp for it. His honor at least, would've been intact by his death. 
To top that thought off, it would have enabled his men to see through just as he and they did now. But it would have been impossible for them to flee from such heresy. They would've fought futilely, like heroes. Heroes, the very thought almost made him laugh. The concept was foolish; the Ninth Legion had no heroes to speak of. They were, after their old heritage was purged as the War Hounds, nothing more than mere butchers. Maddened bloodletters, designed by their Primarch to bring malicious, bloody compliance to all those who resisted their wills and whims.
Here, they had been after all. Reaping a vicious tally through the vastness of a hive city. One that likely could've been brought into compliance once again with far less bloodshed. Now though, it was impossible. For what made even the bunker's depths shudder still had doomed this world to eternally be a barren, broken ruined rock. Bereft of all natural life for many millennia to come.
You did spare many children here today. This was the only thought that attempted to placate his mind. In his orders to his Company, he had saved thousands of children and several hundred guardians of adult ages. They, hopefully, were locked safely under the guard of Zafel in the hab block's bunker complex. His hud didn't display a flatline signal for the old Sergeant, so it was safe to assume that they were indeed safe. That thought did comfort him somewhat, as he removed his heavy helmet and set it beside him. He sat there, staring into the small mirror across the room from him.
His face bore plenty of scars. Some old, from his youthful times as an Aspirant to the Legion. others were from the many campaigns he had undertook during the Crusade and his service on Terra. Still, he was handsome for the most part. At least, as long as he wasn't snatched by the grimace he suddenly held on his countenance. The butcher's nails he had implanted were very fickle, aggravating things. They acted up when he was out of combat for extended periods of time. Making him feel physical and mental trauma the longer he strayed from his desire to fight. Thankfully, many years of careful training and suggestion by the old Sergeant had taught him to fight these emotions, as he heard a rapping at his door.
"Who dares disturb my meditation?" He said sternly, looking up at the ancient bulkhead.
"Um..." A soft, feminine voice answered, before opening the door and stepping inside. "That would be me, honored Captain. Supply Sergeant Tira, at your service.
"Why would the Colonel send me a wench like you? I have not requested anything." He replied, watching her look as if she were trying to say something; but clearly decided better of it as she looked over his gory battleplate.
"I was issued orders to request an audience with you in the command center. Within a few hours, it will be atmospherically safe for your warriors to venture out and attempt to regain contact with your Legion." She blushed at how he had addressed her.
"I will be there shortly then," He nodded, replacing his helmet and rising to his full height. Towering over the smallish woman as he gathered his weapon and other small pieces of equipment. "Did you have any further orders, Sergeant? Or are you simply here to stare?"
"Oh.... Um..." She bit her lip, her cheeks rosy and emphasizing her freckled face as she shook her head. Clearly she was embarrassed. "N....No Captain. Although... I can tidy up your quarters a bit if you like?"
"That will be fine," Gailus patted her shoulder, slipping past her and heading down a long corridor to his left. 
He headed down two flights of stairs before arriving at the command center level of the bunker complex. Here, several dozen officers were busy monitoring various servitor consoles and data slates. Checking over current maps of the hive and the surrounding terrain. Comparing samples secured by biohazard filters placed in the ventilation systems of the bunker. They also seemed to be managing to raise communications with other legionnaires that were hidden away in other bunkers across the city.
"Ah, good timing Captain. We just managed to contact Sergeant Typhon of the Death Guard." The Colonel addressed in greeting, looking at the massive Terminator as he glanced around.
"Death Guard?" He looked at the man curiously. "They were deployed to the farming districts outside of the main hive."
"Yes Captain, they were. However Sergeant Typhon had invaded an enemy militia strong point in the sector and captured their bunker complexes. He has been updating us on the current situation." The Firehawk commander gestured to the vox operator, who was speaking to someone over the line.
"What has he informed us of lately?" Gailus was intrigued. Admittedly, it was nice to know other survivors had made it aside his own brothers.
"Apparently, his captain was still aboard the Eistenstein in orbit. And sent a single transmission just prior to the virus bombing being initiated. Warning the Death Guard of the coming storm, and that... unfortunately, the Warmaster and his forces still in orbit have turned Traitor." The Colonel's face was somber, and the room grew very sober and silent at those words as the Captain took in all of this information.
Finally, he managed words; likely surprising the older commander. "How many of his forces remain? We must regroup and prepare to put up effective resistance in the ruins of the hive."
"He said that half his Company of brothers had survived with him. But that there is also a contingent of Emperor's Children Marines that took shelter in the Governor's palace that could be rounded up for support." The Colonel provided a data slate that brought up a topographic map of the area. Marking the various positions reported of all Astartes survivors known and other Firehawk bunkers operating in the hive.
"So we have roughly five full Regiments of your troops, and maybe four companies worth of Astartes we can rally." The Captain removed his helmet, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "How many of your men are siege defense regiments?"
"Only two sir," The Colonel sighed, examining the placements of his bunkers. "The rest of us are mechanized or armored regiments. Our own bunker here is mostly mechanized infantry. However, my captains in the siege regiments could theoretically form a fighting perimeter around a single strategic location while our other forces operate to plug gaps or counter attack."
"Interesting," Gailus nodded, "The Death Guard will do well to assist in that defense. I can see if the Emperor's Children can organize with your armored units. And my World Eaters will support your infantry."
"But where will be our location to defend?" The Colonel gestured to a few possible areas. "The Governor's palace is a formidable fortress. My men can garrison it and the void shields of the palace is capable of surviving even the worst orbital bombardment for months. However the main armory facilities may also serve us well. If we dig in there, we'll have access to munitions and supplies for years."
"I say the armories then," Gailus tapped the location of the higher spire armory in question. "Put out the request to my brothers and the other Legionnaires. And notify your men. We will make our stand at the armory."
"By your orders, Captain," The Colonel began handing out orders and requests to his various vox operators. The command center lighting up as communiques were sent and received.
"Am I required any further?" the World Eater crossed his massive gauntlets, looking at the officers. "Also may I request knowing why I was sent for by your supply Sergeant?"
"You are no longer required Captain," The Colonel saluted before chuckling. "As for Tira, I sent her because she is a very big fan of Space Marines, and she's very shy."
The World Eater said nothing further, and left back for his quarters again. Content to wait until he could leave the bunker to organize his own Rebellion against those who had betrayed him and his fellows. Upon entering his room again, he was slightly surprised to see how tidied up the place had been made. All the old crates and file cases were removed, making the space much more space and open by comparison to how it had been just minutes prior.
The young, smallish woman stood dusting off the desk. Slightly bent over, taking painstaking care to clean every inch of the room as she had taken to his request he supposed. He took the time to clear his throat, making her squeak; much to his amusement she comically turned around. Looking at his mighty armored form with a deep blush before she saluted him.
"Your ro...room is prepared, honored Captain." She stammered, as he nodded and set his helmet on the desk she had just dusted.
"Thank you Sergeant," He looked over her work appreciatively. "You do your duties well. The Imperium would do well to have more servants such as yourself in its ranks."
"Tha...Thank you sir." She bowed to the Astarte, after slipping a bit away from his hulking presence.
"The Colonel requested your presence back in your storehouse, I believe." Gailus glanced back to her and nodded almost dismissively. "I will be departing for the surface in a few hours with my brothers, so it is unlikely we will meet again. So thank you, for the small comforts you have offered me before my final days."
"Your final days?" She looked at the Captain with slight surprise on her features. "Sir, do you not have faith in yourself and your men?"
"Faith and Duty only go so far, when facing down vast swathes of Traitors you once called Brothers." He retorted, coming to the door. "Keep yourself tucked away and hidden, young lady. The Imperium will need fine soldiers like you if it's to survive."
"But the Imperium will need men li-" He hit the activation stud and closed the bulkhead door, not wanting to hear her argument. A disagreement, especially as his mind started to stress on the conceptualization of his final stand and ultimately his demise.
And so it was, he turned to the desk and began to look over the data he had available to him. His helmet had analyzed all the individual pict recordings and mappings of both the route to the Governor's palace, as well as the entire complex itself. Including the fortified armies contained beneath the palace facilities. He studied every detail that could be recalled in his extensive memory. The palace was a formidable defensive work. Built to act as the strongest bastion in the entire world; it stood bristling with various heavy gun emplacements, automated weaponry, massive artillery posts, and hefty anti-tank positions. Bunkers lined the perimeter, and deep trenchworks stood ready to service the outer defenses. Not only to mention, that these trench lines were well provided for with their own weaponry and artillery support positions.
If there was any place to make a last stand, this would be it. Thought not even close, but a mere drop in the ocean compared to say Terra's palace defenses; this place would become a legendary bastion with the ragtag army of the Emperor's Avenging Angels standing to protect it. Avenging Angels, that was indeed what they had become now. For the lives of their Brothers, the Emperor's own chosen Astartes, had been slain and stabbed in the back. Every death would be paid back; a blood tribute to be demanded and received by those very Traitors.
If the Warmaster will turn his back on us, we shall make him and his ilk suffer tenfold in measure to our pain Gailus thought to himself, as he wrapped up his preparations.
He took the time to make a single silent prayer; that if he should fall in battle, that he be honored to cast many Traitors to hell with him. He rose from his seat at the desk, replaced his helmet, and left for the blast doors of the bunker. His squad was already formed up, waiting promptly for him. Each of them were busy checking over their weapons of choice, nodding as they were joined by their Captain. Gailus only gave a curt nod to the operators of the bunker entrance, watching as they sealed the entrance of the bunker's internal areas, and released the Astartes to the still toxified world above.
The planet smelled of festering death. The Space Marines nearly choked through their sealed suits of power armor; their enhanced senses allowing them to still get a whiff of the horrendous scent. In the old building that shielded the bunker, they were forced to wade their knee deep piles of sludgy biological material. This was all that was left to show the lifer eater virus's grisly work. Still a far worse fate this hive had endured, compared to their much calmer, more focused axe that had been planned to descend on the capital city prior.
Yet now, the Astartes had found they had much more in common with the city's former defenders; as they were navigating the maze of streets filled with the slushy rivers of the dead. Heading for the only bastion left that could offer resistance to an implacable force. He led his men with dedication to the great, looming walls and gatehouse of the palace grounds. 
On his way in, he had passed a series of Death Guard Tactical marines and Devastator squads. They were dispersed, rather efficiently and effectively through the lines of trenches and bunkers. Alongside them were many of the survivors of his Company. They had come per his specifications that had been broadcast. And they stood ready, glaring angrily out at the approaches to the palace. Their weapons revving or gripped so tightly they could've crushed a man's skull with ease. Lastly, on the walls and manning the fortress guns were the contingent of Emperor's Children that had been here already.
He and his retinue of veterans had passed the gatehouse, and watched as a delegation of those marines made approach. They were, by the Captain's figuring, some of the most haughty and uptight arses of the Imperium at-large; but today he had much respect for them as their leader bowed before him.
"Greetings Captain Gailus," The lead marine addressed him, his voice like silk even behind his helmet's vox grille. "My Brothers have done well to prepare the lines as you requested. It has been difficult to accomplish, but we have done our best."
"You did good," Was all he answered with, not wanting to waste breath on mincing words.
"Apologies. If you need to speak further, here are mine and my brothers' vox codes. Just ask for Sergeant Nimera." He said, syncing up with the network between the Astarte's displays.
"Very well, I will keep it in mi-"
The group was shook when a massive series of explosions began to pound the palace's rebooted void shields. The world outside of that barrier looked as if it was being scorched anew. Like the fire and brimstone of some long, forgotten religious visage of hell was cascading in a wave against it. Instinctively, Gailus and his brothers had moved into covered positions overlooking the future battlefield from the walls. whilst the Emperor's Children had moved to join their fellows on the heavy fortress guns. Commanding the various squads dispersed among them to prepare for targets in the skies and on the ground.
The good Captain made sure to issue his only orders, as he looked out and down to the fields beyond the hive city. Watching the massed formations shooting down from orbit and deploying. Seeing the twinkling of familiar, but infuriating white and blue armor forming ranks. "When they come, my brothers, kill them all."
An outrageous, vicious uproar accompanied his commands, as he smiled behind his helmet. Observing his brothers raising their weapons defiantly and shouting with burning hatred to the now advancing hordes of Traitor Astartes. Out among the massed array of charging madmen and Heretics, he saw one figure. One that stood out from all the rest. This man, or monster, now, as Gailus considered it, made the old Astarte's blood boil.
Leading the pack, was the one and only Primarch of the World Eaters. The primogenitor of his own bloodline, and the root cause for his internal struggle with the raging desire to slaughter. The one who had driven him to near madness with hatred and bloodlust. The great, and terrible master of his former Legion. 
"ANGRON!" He howled to the high winds, his voice carrying far through the filling streets of Heretic battle brothers as they poured over the walls. 
He wanted the man to know his pain, his feelings of betrayal, and his anger. He wanted him to know how much he desired to brutalize him, as he rose up and watched as the bombardment from orbit petered out. Obviously the men in orbit valued the World Eaters, or they would've maintained fire as he leapt from the palace walls and stood among the trenches.
It was life and death. A struggle of magnitude that had never been seen before; and he doubted would ever be achieved again. Brothers met brothers in furious, savage combat. Slamming into each other's lines with almost reckless abandon. Three-hundred world eaters standing in the trench lines, hacking and slashing against their former brethren. Fifty Death Guard specialists dug in to bunkers, artillery posts, and rearward trenches; blasting out at the enemy with their storm bolters, las-cannons, and heavy stubbers. 
The Emperor's Children were hammering away at the hordes from the walls. Their heavier weapons and the fortress guns on the walls taking chunks at a time from the Traitor's ranks. Their disciplined fire mixing with the close range defenses of the Death Guard to provide a beautiful symphony of death. They were careful as they could be, to avoid hitting the identified friendlies led by Gailus, as he stood at the forefront of the assault.
His brilliant, huge form towering among even his brethren and the Traitors as he lashed out deftly against any who opted to cross blades with him. His form almost elegantly dancing around the front of the trenches, as he wove his way into groups and slashed viciously into his former brothers. Blind fury controlling his every thought, as he gutted marines and locked axes with another he recognized.
His former mentor, another veteran Captain of the 19th Company. "Ghalvar Blackheart, you have committed the greatest sins against our most esteemed Imperium and the Emperor! The sentence is Death!"
Gailus growled and roared, as the two traded relentless blows. The more veteran Captain 's movements was unearthly, even for the superhuman abilities of the Astartes. His strength kept the loyal World Eater on his guard at every moment, and he seemed to have a berserker fury that was heightened compared to prior fights they had engaged in years ago during his training. They countered each other's every move, drawing an odd awe from the others who were equally embattled as their weapons clashed.
"I am no Traitor. My loyalty is resolute. I serve our Father and the Warmaster's wishes." Ghalvar finally responded, as he kicked out and staggered the Captain back before lashing out with a hefty strike. 
His chain axe struck deep in a chink of Gailus' armor, ripping a deep gash to the bone of his right shoulder. Incapacitating the Loyalist's ability to effectively utilize his two-handed chain axe as he stood there, battered and bleeding. But fortunately, not broken; as the World Eater howled and charged his foe with anger blazing in his eyes. He tackled the smaller Astarte to the ground, landing atop him and beginning to furiously pound his helmet with his armored fist. Damaging the Marine's sensor arrays and denting his helmet in deeply, which caused pain when the helmet lenses shattered and blew back into his eyes.
Having drawn blood, and caused immense pain to the Traitor; Gailus' bloodlust was up. And it drove him into a frenzy; as he drew his combat knife and began to hack, slash, and stab his former master vigorously. He kept attacking him as the Astarte struggled to extricate himself under the massive weight of his former student, crying out from the agonies inflicted upon him until he eventually fell still and silent.
His armor was covered in the thick, warm sprays of blood. Giving him a gruesome appearance as he finally rose. Barely taking time to check his shoulder as he looked around. Seeing that the battle was in its losing stages. The Death Guard had fell back to the walls, trying to cover a fighting withdrawal for his Brothers who still defended with incredible courage and honour against their numerous enemies. His quick check of his databases in his helmet told him that many of his Brothers had fallen in battle. Confirmed killed in action. Their vitals silenced, their lives ended brutally. The only way that they would've wanted; to perish on a battlefield in service to the Emperor.
But this drove the Captain mad; the mere concept that they had fallen, despite how honorable they had passed, to his former brothers was infuriating to no end. And so, he limped from his position after claiming his former mentor's standard chain axe, and howled a challenge as he spotted the one who led it all.
"ANGRON! COME FACE ME YOU COWARD. FIGHT AND DIE WELL, YOU TRAITOROUS SCUM!" These words rang out, and managed to as he had intended, to catch the Primarch's attention.
The massive figure of the World Eater's turned to face him, and roared in primordial rage. Anger he knew well, and braced for. Guarding himself with his good arm and the weapon he had retrieved. Prepared to die with honour like his Brothers, fighting to the bitter end against his Traitorous gene-father. His spark of defiance hoping to inspire billions of other sparks to end this great Heresy  as he raised his weapon to lock with his Primarch's twin chain axes.
But it was not to be, as a strange, viscous aura began to envelop the battlefield. A purplish hue took over the dead, poisonous yellow skies, as a heavy storm began to pour from the heavens. The storm was raging; but it was not the acid rain they had experienced prior. It was a  plastering of hot, thick blood. Angron didn't seem as affected by this, nor did his Traitor sons; but the loyalists were ducking for cover. As if the blood was harmful. As if it was burning deep through their toughened power armor and searing the skin from their bodies.
One last thing tore into reality, as the battered Captain was still braced for the final battle. Several rifts of horrible energies ripped into the very air, disgorging terrible creatures and monstrous, impossible machines. These very creatures and vehicles of war began assaulting his surviving brethren, and there was naught he could do to spare them as Angron broke his guard with ease. Casting him back, and before he could right himself he was seized by an unearthly grip that dragged him screaming into one of those rifts.
Everything turned into an unyielding, unending maw of endless possibilities and countless horrors. He saw truth, and endless lies. He witnessed many great events, and terrible ones. He saw the rise, and the decay of the Imperium he held so dear to his heart. All the sentiments he defended, all the hopes he desired; having been torn down and reduced to ruin and rubble by the fell treacheries of thousands of years of ignorance. He closed his eyes, trying to hide himself away from the deafening visions and sounds. It seemed to last an eternity, until, at last, it stopped.
The only reason it had stopped, was due to the fact that when he opened his eyes; he felt and tasted true air again. It was repugnantly sweet, almost idyllic. And he despised it. He took a small glance, his eyes hurting even behind his shielding helmet lenses. The colors of the landscape he was exposed to were so bright and annoying was near maddening. So many shades, almost like pastels, mixing harmoniously as they swayed in the wind. The grass and soil  itself felt soft, and yielding. The trees were waving almost, as he glanced around. He sniffed again, his instincts telling him to try and acclimate to his environment as he grunted, forcing himself slowly to his feet.
He took stock of his injuries, and gave pause as he set his right shoulder back into place with a sickening snap. He barely managed a wince, and looked around for his weapon. Noticing it had landed and tore into the side of a massive tree. He went to the weapon, and wrenched it free after kicking the tree's trunk above it and snapping it. Felling the huge tree to the ground as he wielded his weapon and tested it in his healing arm.
It was then, that his thoughts in his damaged mind shifted back to how he had gotten here. He felt odd, because he had an inkling it was something terrible. But he couldn't quite bring it to his mind as he stood there, deep in his thoughts.
How have I been brought to this strange place? Where did I come from? Where are my Brothers?
> Chapter 2: Suffering the Alien
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been some scant few moments since Gailus had arrived in a most impromptu and improvised fashion to this strange world. Already, he despised the place. Its colors were too bright and happy; the scenery too serene and peaceful. Gone was the world of hate, despair, death, pain, and suffering that the weathered Astarte had come to understand and love. Now, he stood in stark contrast; and felt like a petulant child that had been forced to move to a new town with his family. Ungrateful for the new chance or peace that it brought, as he stomped through the woods fearlessly.
His auspexes and sensors built into his hefty helmet scanned for any potential hostiles; or flora and fauna that might tell where roughly he might be located. At least to hopefully give a general indication of which segmentum he had been so unfortunate to be thrown so violently into. But every creature that was native here, every tree and bush or blade of grass; all of it gave neither hope nor any hint of anything that had been mapped prior to the galactic index of the Imperium.
So I'm stuck on some backwater planet without any hope of regrouping with the Imperium. Great. This was the only thing on the Captain's mind, as he paused at a grove of trees and thickets of brush. He had found himself growing weary, as if he had fought a great battle for days on end without rest. At first, he tried to shrug off the thought. But the longer he lingered here, the more tired he realized he was. Surely, he reckoned, he must've suffered as great a battle as when he had first met Angron aboard the Legion's Flagship. That felt ages ago, compared to his current situation, as he leaned against one of the trees and pondered.
Eventually, he slid down to sit. His huge form making the tree shift just a bit from his sheer bulk and weight. This place seemed a good area to rest. Since no hostile life had been identified previously by his sensors, and the ground and tree was comfortable as he was willing to allow himself. He made the decision to allow his wounded body to take a short time to recuperate. His mind remained alert, though he permitted himself to rest. Several Terran hours passed, as he thought idly on what he would need to do next.
Unfortunately, he wasn't allotted much more time than a mere few hours before the snapping of a twig brought the Astarte to his feet in the blink of an eye. He was already in a combat stance, much to the chagrin of his complaining muscles; his chain axe revved to full life as he scanned the forest around him. At first, he noticed nothing. His sensor arrays detected nothing out of the ordinary. The Captain almost dropped the subject in a dismissive way; until his natural senses of sight, smell, and hearing picked up on the faintest rustling of a bush not but a scant ten feet away. 
It was more like only five paces for the lumbering power armored zealot, as he lashed out with his massive gauntlet that was free of his weapon. In a mere second's time, he was yanking from the bush a most strange creature to the Marine's eye. To him, he could only recall such a similar being from his years serving on old Terra itself. Back when he had been a naïve initiate from his home planet. A mere savage warrior's child from a recently conquered state. When he had been conscripted into the Twelfth Legion by his old mentor and friend Sergeant Zafel. His family had once owned one such thing in those ancient times; but this one was odd even in comparison to that animal.
They had called them Equines, or colloquially the more common name of horses. But this thing was very tiny in comparison to those mighty beasts he had once known as a boy. It almost seemed unworthy of even the title, as he shook his head and held the miniature beast at eye level. Far off the ground, it screeched and neighed in his powerful grip. Smacking feebly at his mighty, sturdy power armor without success. It was as colorful and bright as the environment around them; although this horse bore a sky blue shade to its fur. Its mane and tail was a deep ocean blue, and it had golden yellow eyes that were huge and fearful as it stared into his unforgiving helmet lenses. A small horn sprouted from its head, giving further credence to the idea that this was a mutant strand of the original species he was vaguely familiar with.
"What the fuck, are you?" Gailus growled, mostly to himself. He figured the pitiful creature had no concept of language, or any understanding of anything sentient. Much it was, to his surprise, as he heard first an eep of fright before a response in the very same language he had addressed it with.
"I...I'm a Unicorn..." It whispered, hiding its face and peeking out at it between its hooves. Strangely, it had a feminine tone, which confounded the Astarte to no end. "I...I don't have a name."
Immediately after the shock had set in and passed, the Astarte cast the equine to the ground roughly and raised his axe as if to smite the creature. "You vile xeno scum! How dare you pervert humanity's language for your own foul purposes! I should kill you now, were you not worth the effort of cleansing the gore from my axe!"
"I...I..." The tiny Unicorn soon began to well up with tears in its huge eyes. In moments she, if he could consider it a she, began to cry. Weeping as if she had been a badly scolded child.
For a moment's time, he actually felt a rare emotion fill his cold, angered hearts. He felt pity for the small thing; much like he had when he had dealt with, unbeknownst to his shattered mind, the many children from the Hive city prior. The Captain stayed his hand, and growled to himself that he could even feel such an emotion against what he otherwise would slaughter In the Emperor's name. Despite this, he allowed his extremely rare good nature to overtake him for a time, as he sheathed his axe at his waist and crouched down. At the very least minorly bringing him closer to the equine's level.
"Stop crying you pitiful whelp." He ordered, a smidge of anger still penetrating his somewhat more calmed demeanor. "I'm not going to butcher you right now, but if you don't stop crying you'll only hasten your death." He hissed as he observed the tiny horse pause.
The small creature looked up at him, trying to wipe away her tears. "Y...You mean it?"
"I don't use words lightly. Do not question my word again." The response left Gailus' possible intentions in the air, as he rose back to his towering height and glared at the miniature pony from behind his helmet. "What are you doing out here? Do you live in this woods? Do you live with others?" He glanced around idly, as if expecting others to potentially be in the vicinity. Fortunately, even his natural senses did not detect any other beings nearby. 
"N...No." She answered to him, still afraid as she slowly stood on her small legs and looked up at him. "I'm alone. Been alone since my momma..." There was pain there, as she paused. 
Perhaps, he figured, she couldn't even conceptualize what it was like to truly lose family. Mayhaps even not be able to comprehend the concept of death and its permanency in the galaxy. Not to the same extent that he could from his many years of battle-tested wisdom. Not that he cared overmuch, as he returned his attentions to the pony at hand. "So you live here. Where?" 
"In an old cave. It's not far from here." She pointed with one of her front hooves, indicating a direction his helmet identified as northwest on his heads up display.
"Take me there. I would prefer a better place to gather myself." He said firmly, grimacing again behind his helmet as the butcher's nails minorly agitated his nervous system at him not fighting or butchering anything lately. Strangely though, he could tell the symptoms were extremely subdued compared to how they had been. Whereas before it would've been almost unbearable; it felt as though this time it was just an annoyance that he could ignore.
"Um..." She almost seemed like she was going to object. But in that split second he also noted how quickly that objection died in her tiny throat. All the better for her, since he had already considered crushing that miniature windpipe were she not willing to comply. "O...Okay. I can do that."
"Good." He nodded faintly, bumping her with his massive armored greave. "Get to moving. I don't like to waste time either."
To her credit, she was fairly quick to scuttle forward in the direction of his objective at hand. He followed with slow, measured strides. Carefully examining his surroundings. This was still very much so unfamiliar land, and he had to maintain constant vigil in case this tiny xeno decided to betray him in any shape or form. If she was genuine, then he wouldn't lay harm to a single hair on her. However, he was prepared to tenderize her with the bottom of his boot if she lied to him or led him to a trap. His caution was not unwarranted, as she suddenly froze up. There was clear, legitimate fear written on her face and her body as he searched around.
He opted not to say a single word, as he allowed his training and instincts to kick in. Letting his armor augment his senses with their superior auspexes. He noted one thing out of normal. A few, small leaves had been disrupted. They had fallen from a nearby tree, and laid at the ground before the small pony. His helmet imperceptibly shifted, taking note of even more that led to the source. A branch here or there that was shifted as if having been weighed down moments before. 
Millionth's of seconds passed, and he drew his weapon and took a casual defensive stance as he bellowed out a guttural challenge before throwing the chain axe towards his intended target. The massive blade revving and ripping as it landed next to a branch that just took the weight of the individual who had been watching them. The one who had been following them seemed to have both surprise, and yet not surprise at all. Perhaps more so worth a raise of a brow from this one's perspective, considering that he had intentionally made the choice not to throw his weapon a hair's inch further to the left to ravage this being's body with savage effect.
Instead, he had forced this stalker to reveal themselves, as the branch and axe fell to the ground and cast a massive thump as it struck. The individual, with preternatural grace, landed in a comfortable fashion before the two. Her figure was sleek, and incredibly refined. Tall, and slender, clad in beautifully crafted and jeweled armor that only accentuated every aspect of her body. She stood only a bit shorter than the massive Terminator; but still seemed a toothpick compared to his sheer, armored bulk and muscle mass. Her eyes were bright, dangerous, and manipulative. Her slim face and expression curious, as she shifted her head. Her long, reddish hair billowing behind her. Revealing her pointed ears as she gave a mocking bow to the Astarte.
"I must say, Mon-Keigh, you have incredible aim considering the primitive nature of your parent species." She greeted, her tone almost conveying pure contempt as she looked at Gailus and the insignia on his shoulder guard. "Ah, A World Eater. One of the more barbarous of your desperate kind's attempts to craft super soldiers."
"Stay your sewer in your face, Eldar. Or you'll find that this discourse will go as you believe it to be. Short, bloody, and brutal." He retorted, dancing with her in a verbal duel as he sized her up. "To what end do you have to stalk these woods, Xeno scum?"
By this point, the tiny pony had shifted and run to hide behind one of the Captain's massive greaves as the Eldar gave the tiniest of smiles. "I could ask you the same thing, Mon-Keigh. Though I have not seen your kind on my realm until the Warp spat you out. So, naturally, you have my curiosity piqued."
Gailus crossed his gauntlets in contempt, standing his ground firmly. Ready to charge this upstart Xeno should it be necessary. "I do not stalk wherever I go. I walk with pride as if I am the firstborn master of wherever I step. Unlike you, and your failed species who fell from the light and hide in the shadows of the Galaxy."
"Hmpf. Never expected a brute like you to ever even be remotely familiar with the concept of my race's history. Normally your kind are far too focused on trying to brutalize those who resist your foolish Emperor's dominion." She gave a small smirk as she could tell this was a sore spot.
"Do not besmirch the honour of my Brothers or our sacred duties to the Imperium, or I will see your head mounted to a spike." He growled, dropping into a combative stance, much to the Eldar's delight.
"I will not fight you, Space Marine. I know that despite my mastery of mobility, your practice in the art of warfare, and stubborn determination could even outmatch my ability to escape your wrath." This small admission seemed to be a disdainful one, as she folded her hands behind her back. "I have no need to harm you, although it is nice to play with your emotions like one might a child."
"There is a difference in playing with my emotions as one might a child, and not understanding the training and indoctrinated hatred I have learned to hone as a means to extinguish your blight from the stars." He scoffed, slowly removing his helmet and causing her to raise a brow once more as he clipped it to his mag-lock at his belt. "Suffer not the Alien, or the Heretic."
"And yet here you are, bantering with one such as I. And that little pony that you've allowed to live thus far. You have become that which your barbarous Legions preach to crusade against." She allowed herself a light chuckle, as she watched the Terminator's expression harden.
"I make it a rule to never strike down children. Innocence deserves preservation." He countered, "As for you however, I prefer not having to beat information out of your frail body. Doesn't make for much conversation when I peel the flesh from your bones to get what I want to know."
"Oh, so very kind hearted. A foolish concept at its core." She spat, "As if your 'grace' is truly from such failed notions as nobility or honour."
"At least I can claim to have some nobility and honour that I follow." Was the last words he spoke, before he took just a moment's time to collect his chain axe and replace his helmet.
Only to find that the Eldar in question had vanished once more. Leaving the forest quiet and normal once more. A single, psychic whisper seemed to echo in his mind, which told him that the Eldar had opened an empathic link to him. "We will meet again Mon-Keigh. Mayhaps your feeble mind can grow on this world and you can see more than just the path of the Warrior."
He shook his helmeted head, dismissing the Eldar's passing final thoughts to him as he turned to the tiny pony hiding behind his greave. "Get your sorry ass to the front. We are done here. lead on."
The small creature began to slowly, in a measured way, venture from the relative safety of his armored might. "Elf lady is scary. She hunts my kind for food." She whispered, in a way making the Marine smile behind his faceplate.
The thought of a Eldar having to resort to their own form of barbarism just to survive was hypocritical at its core. How she could ever call him the primitive being was so satisfying to know she was little different from himself as he began to trudge with her through the forest once more. Nothing more bothered the two on their journey, as his steps quieted the dense noise around into near silence. They eventually emerged into a clearing that held a small hill. Dug deep into that hill and leading down into a cavernous maw was the cave the pony had told of before. It seemed large enough to comfortably fit his immense size.
That thought alone was ideal for him, and he entered the cavern and activated his helmet lights. Illuminating the space he had entered. This was to the astonishment of the pony. "Usually I need to cast a candlelight spell to see here."
"Technology is the greatest advent of Humanity," He replied, mostly indifferent as he examined what the pony had done to the place. "So you are a psyker then? I dislike those types. Mostly for their unpredictability."
"Psyker? What's that? I'm just a unicorn." She tilted her head and looked up at him and tapped the horn sprouted from her head. "I can channel my magic to do things from this."
"A rose by any other name, is still a rose." He says quietly, looking at the small amount of accommodations the unicorn had made for herself.
The cave was laid out with a woven carpeting of grass to create a comfortable floor. Atop that was a tiny bed framed from logs and a makeshift mattress comprised of leaves stuffed into a woven sack. A small pit in the center of the room was cleared of the carpet and surrounded by stones. Ashes and charred remains of branches sat in its centre. A very basic setup, but one that was made with a survivalist mindset. Something the Marine respected, as he crouched, and then sat at the far side of the cave. His helmet trained to watch the entrance. He spoke not to the unicorn, and practically ignored her or any attempt at conversation.
His mind was focused more so on his arrival to this strange planet. Trying to discern how he had arrived. What had happened before to bring him here. And what awaited him in the future. Already he had been surprised, to a minor degree; meeting a new species of seemingly sentient psyker xenos shaped like the equines of yore. Then finding that Eldar lurked on this world as well. Now that was going to make things very interesting in the future; all things considered, he was much more concerned with how that Xeno woman had addressed him. almost as if she were trying to guide him to some better path. These thoughts would swim in his head for hours, as the daylight faded and the outside world became dark. His mediation undisturbed, as he had indeed hoped for. He decided once more though, to rest his mind on but a final thought.
Must I truly suffer the Alien? Or must I ensure their destruction at my hand?
> Chapter 3: Surprise at Sunrise
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shafts of sunlight were what first met the eyes of the World Eater Captain, as he shifted ever so slightly in his position on the cave floor. His armor hissing and clanking, as if returning to life just as he did. His slumber had been an almost completely inanimate one; in which Gailus had laid entirely motionless throughout the long night. Despite his body's rest, his mind had labored furiously; continually ruminating on the deeper thoughts of his damaged psyche. Twas but a small miracle, as he sat up fully and started to rise to his feet that he didn't pulverize the tiny unicorn that fell off his massive knee guard and onto the floor. 
He was left, baffled somewhat, for a brief moment. Staring quizzically at the miniscule creature that was looking up at him with slight pain and shock at being awoken so suddenly. He could smell the fear that started to fill the cavern practically as well; as the little pony realized the over-stepped boundary that had been made by her choices. Contempt, and anger began to seethe already at the back of his mind; and the butcher's nails were feeding off of that, as small of an annoyance as it was. Only serving to exacerbate his hatred as he clenched his armored fists tightly. 
But, just as quickly as his fury was setting in; he was surprised to find it redirected as he heard the familiar sounds of roaring engines and armored tracks tearing through soil. The intense noises, and the crude, ramshackle sounds were certainly an indication that whatever it was, it wasn't of Imperial make. the Captain secured his axe, and headed for the mouth of the cave swiftly. Pushing the tiny Unicorn to the back with a well-natured flick of his boot. Ensuring she landed with precision on her makeshift bed safely as he exited the primitive shelter.
Once more, in the searing light of day, the Astarte felt faint vestiges of that same illness that had nearly overcome him his first moments arriving here. He quickly beat that down though with the mold of his will, as he felt the considerable impact of several rounds striking his shoulder guards. In the air, he could smell the scent of pollution in the normally sickly sweet air. Smog and promethium, mixed with the hot lead that was being sprayed at him.
It had been the bullets that caused him to mentally snap. He shook the earth with a shattering roar, and his helm snapped to face those who had been the aggressors to him. Poorly armed rabble, would've been the best way to describe them; as he glared holes through their souls for mere seconds. But, indeed, these were humans of a sort. As mangled and mutated as they appeared, he could still see a pitiful resemblance to man in their shambling, frenzied forms as they fired shoddily made autoguns and lasguns at him. 
The few rounds and lasbolts that continued to strike his armored might bounced harmlessly off, and he started to step towards these wretches with violent intent. As he edged closer and closer, he revved his axe in lustful rejoicing. Finally he could vent his anger and frustrations on an enemy. Perhaps, not the best qualifier for such extreme anger; but an enemy nonetheless. One he was so grateful for, as he met the first disturbing twisted cretin in close quarters melee. The creature, of which he could vaguely guess was once a woman, charged him with insanity glistening in her eyes. 
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" She screamed, completely entrenched in whatever lunacy she was in.
He said nothing, merely overpowering her roar with his own as he easily smashed aside her rusted sword that she carried. Snapping her arm in the process, she frothed angrily and tried to swing with her uninjured fist. He caught it deftly, twisting it in his massive fist and yanking her up off the ground. With ease and not a care to the world, he fell to a knee and shattered her spine upon it. Casting her aside without a second thought.
Her body, flung as hard as possible, slammed straight into two of the wretches that were still spraying their rifles at him. The sheer speed at which her corpse had struck them tearing their torsos from their waists. Leaving them in complete shock and bleeding out quickly on the ground. Trying to crawl towards him voraciously in their last moments as he reduced yet another pitiful man to red mist by using the butt of his own rifle as a brutal club.
With ease and care, he surveyed and saw several dozen more were still to come; and so he revved his axe and charged with furious zeal towards them. Leaping into combat vigorously, relishing in the slaughter that wrought terrible, sweet music to his ears. Every single cry or scream; every drop of blood he spilled. It made him feel fantastic. It made him feel empowered. It made him desire only to spill more blood. No matter if it was of the guilty or innocent.
Suddenly, just as jarringly as when he felt the blast that sent him skidding back a few steps; he was given immediate pause. He was left with brows raised, wondering just where in the Emperor's name these thoughts had come from. Although, he had an assumption it had been the butcher's nails; he wasn't entirely sure as he checked over himself finally. His armor had absorbed the blast well, and he glanced up to discover it had been from a portable missile launcher. 
"Utterly disappointing." Was all that he could manage to get out, as he reared back and threw his chain-axe with deadly precision. Striking and tearing through the foolish heretic that had tried to slay him with such a poor weapon. 
By the end of it, he was drenched in blood all over his armor. It left a sickening, dark crimson taint coating over his prideful white and heraldic blue armor. Encapsulating his insignia on his shoulder of his Legion, as he stomped over and retrieved his axe. Listening intently, he could discern that there was still motorized and mechanized activity in the general vicinity. 
Following his instinctual training, he began to consider various contingencies of which to handle these foes. He could tell that he was outnumbered vastly by the roar of the many engines; but he also could tell the vehicles likely weren't of a heavier nature. So long as they weren't of anything potentially comparable to a standard Leman Russ battle tank; he reckoned he could dispatch these foes as well. 
But, just as he had made his plans to stand and fight, the forest around him suddenly began to fall silent. He growled quietly, searching around. His auspexes scanning the surrounding foliage for any abnormalities. He didn't have to wait for any data confirmations, as the screams and explosions started resounding around him. Music to his ears, he could consider, if it had been his actions causing this symphony of destruction. Smoke wafted skyward in multiple areas above the canopies, and he could smell burning promethium and blood in the air.
He saw emerging out of the dense shrubs and tangles of plants a stumbling, wounded man. This man was wearing tattered remnants of a tanker's uniform. He was covered in blood, and smoldering from having barely escaped one of the vehicles presumably. He raised his weapon, preparing to slice the poor man apart and end his misery, when he watched the wretch collapse to the ground. What he saw, bored through this creature's back and skull, were two, exceptionally precise shots. Just two, not any more, or less. One to the centerline of the spine, and the back of the skull. 
Taking incredible pains to crouch and thoroughly examine the fresh corpse, he could easily denote that this was no mere Imperial Lasgun. Powerful it had been a shot for sure; too strong for any standard pattern lasgun. But too precise for something much more powerful, like the colloquially known hellgun of more elite Guardsman units. The scorch patterns that had been seared deep into the flesh and bone of the victim also pointed to this not being Imperial weaponry. These were carefully designed shots. Each one individually calculated to perfectly pieces just as deep as necessary for disabling and fatal blows. No Lasgun or Hellgun was designed to be able to alter these energy shots intensity so exactly. 
With great care, he began to lower his weapon slowly and place it at his belt. He could feel the eyes that gazed upon him, even from this afar; and he knew just what and likely whom had aided him in this way.
"Fucking Eldar…" He griped to himself, noticing off in the distance the faintest glimpse of a few glints before they vanished once more into the dense woods. "That is one fuck of a surprise for the morning." He chuckled just a bit to himself, finding some surprising touch of hilarity in the oddity of why the Xenos would wish to even aid him in any capacity. 
The thought of that, would give him more pause, as he began to slowly trod back whence he had come. His intended course to return to the cavern and conduct any necessary maintenance on his armor as well as clean himself of the disgusting visage he had become. Never could he be convinced that drenched in crimson was worthy of being his Legion's lineage. He was a shining, pure example at his own core. Or, at least that is what he believed himself to be. The troublesome thought came back to him, as he neared the mouth of the cave once more, that for but a moment he had indeed reveled in the darker paths of his psyche. A moment too long, he considered it.
"A mind without purity of purpose will dwell in dark places..." He murmured to himself, as he entered the cave and scanned around. Finding that the tiny unicorn he had tossed for protection purposes still was laid, shaking, on her little cot.
A minute pang of conscience grasped at his mind, and gave the smallest margin of pity towards her; as he moved to his own corner of the space and began to examine his armor. With great, painstaking care, he took a small, flat stone from the cavern floor and began to scrape the dried blood from his battle plate. Making certain not to scratch or damage the armor or the ancient painted scheme underneath. All the while, slowly growing lost in his own thoughts.
Now that he was out of combat, and his mental faculties were not as grasped by the butcher's nails as he had been; he could wonder and muse in his mind. "Who did I just fight? And why did they just throw themselves at me so, insanely? And why, by the Emperor, are the foul Eldar helping me?"