Xandrek was lost ahead in the press of bodies, busy practicing his deadly craft. Veptus gunned his jump pack, his sword slicing diagonally through the helmet of a nearby Raven Guard as he took off. Only a short burst was needed to make it over the thronging masses killing one another and reach Xandrek. Veptus had anticipated landing in the middle of a furious melee with Azrael and Xandrek taking lives with every swing of their blades. Instead he found a comparative lull, and Xandrek pointing his blade at Azrael.
"I will deal with you later Azrael, you will not be getting off lightly so hope that you can find your death on his field before you deal with me." Xandrek turned away from them ad Veptus glanced sideways at his Terran brother.
“What have you done?” His tone came out harsh over the melee, but there was a heavy note of sadness in it.

However, the roar of Xandrek’s jump pack told him that the time for talking was over. What time they might have had had been squandered already and they had many hours of killing to get back to. He hoped that he would not have to stand over Azrael and visit Xandrek’s punishment on him. Azrael was one of the few Night Lords he could trust, and that was a rare thing in the VIIIth Legion. As Veptus rose up in a parabola behind Xandrek, he took in the sights, hit volkite raining down on those below. In the distances two demi-gods, one glade in shimmering amethyst and the other in blackened iron, moving in murderous blurs of motions that he could not follow. There was the rise and fall of a silver shard, whir of a golden block, but more than that he could not tell. For certain though, it was a combat only one would survive. Perhaps neither if the day continued on its course.

Veptus briefly wondered where his father might be, but daren’t look to catch a glimpse of a flying shadow in case he caught the murderous attention of the wrong bird. He wanted to keep his power sword at the ready, but as he descended after his captain Veptus drew his plasma pistol. In a syncopated succession of thuds, Xandrek, he and other members of the First Claw landed with Xheng’s Raptors, who were bust disembowelling the closest Raven Guard squad. By Terra this was a massacre. There was no reprieve in any corner. He imagined the Iron Warriors sitting safe in their bunkers and wondered if they missed the feeling of the blood running between their fingers, the rush of adrenaline and the cries of exhaustion as men too tired to go on fought to stay alive.

His closest quarry was a quartet in black, each either with an autocannon or a lascannon in various stages of readiness. Veptus’ plasma pistol was up in and instant, blasting into the barrel of one almost shouldered lascannon. The bolt of plasma bored right through and ate away the Astarte’s shoulder. As soon as he had fired, Veptus was moving. An autocannon was moving to fire on him, the man behind it already depressing the trigger so that the first bolts ate only earth. Veptus closed the distance fast and took the end of the barrel off with a flick of his sword. Another few bolts fired blindly into the sky, exploding the shortened barrel and ricocheting in unpredictable directions. He went so slash as the man wielding it, but his opponent brought up the now useless weapon to block the strike.

Veptus’ sword bit deep into the body of the gun, and then became stuck fast. The Raven Guard hurled Veptus around, forcing him to let go of his power sword and stumble backwards. The Raven guard fought to free the stolen weapon from his gun. Veptus went to charge him when another swung at him with a chainsword. He side-stepped one blow and ducked under another. The Night Lord delivered a right hook into his opponent’s side. Although it only winded him, a moment later the Carnifex from his Narthecium sprung into life and tore through the fibre bundles and soft flesh beneath. With a savage yank, Veptus pulled the adamantium piston through flesh and fibre, causing a deep red gash in his opponent’s side. An instant later a scalpel was in his hand and he drew it across his opponent’s throat, leaving the marine to collapse and bleed out on the black sands.

The other lascannon wielding marine had finally got his gun to bear and would have fired it if Veptus had not blown his legs out from under him with his plasma pistol. The XIXth legionnaire dropped to the floor. A moment later Veptus kicked his head with such force that he was certain he heard the vertebrae in the Astarte’s neck snap and the body went slack, either paralysed or dead. The one-armed Astarte came at him with his combat blade in a clumsy swing. Veptus turned the blow aside, embraced him and stabbed him in the side with his scalpel. Again and again the razor sharp metal bit through flesh and muscle, causing him to bleed profusely. When his fury was expended, Veptus brought his fist up against the man’s head and sent his Carnifex into his brain.

Veptus ended his deathly embrace and heard the sound of a power field being activated. Veptus turned. The Raven Guard had finally dislodged Veptus’ sword from his gun. “That’s mine.” Veptus growled. The son of Corax barked a harsh laugh.
“Oh really, traitor…” The words were practically spat as the two circled each other. “…then come claim it.”
“Fine.” Veptus said, his voice still its odd sing-song. The raven guard came at him with an admirable opening strike that Veptus would have been hard-pressed to block or counter, even if he had a blade.

So he shot him. It was a draw shot that was barely aimed on anything other than instinct, but it still tore away a good chunk of the man’s side and caused his strike to falter. Not wasting a moment Veptus kicked the man’s left shin with such force that it buckled underneath him. The pain in his side and suddenly being off balance caused the Raven Guard to falter and fall. He stamped on the Astarte’s neck and held his foot there, compressing what was likely and already fractured wind-pipe. “Shhhh…” Veptus cooed, stooping down in the little centre of serenity he had created in this maelstrom. His Narthecium gently pressed into the base of the Raven Guard’s brain-stem. “…be at peace.” And so he was. Veptus quickly gathered his sword and looked for Xandrek. He did not want to find himself apart from his captain when he needed him…

The horribly distorted voice retorted in turn. It was somewhat funny listening to the undoubtedly ancient Destroyer marine speak. He was likely held up by nothing more than sheer willpower and hatred at this point; Serhiy couldn't help but wonder what human bits of the Sergeant remained. The entire claw produced grenades and flamers geared towards the same sickly art that he so thoroughly indulged and belched death. Within a moment his own view of the 1st Claw subsided into the background still present but not nearly as much as that within 10th Claw. He did note that at the moment Xandrek seemed particularly perturbed although at what he could only speculate. Undoubtedly he would know when a Night Lord didn't return or only returned with some of their extremities intact.

The thought subsided and Serhiy depressed the trigger on his own flamer and the slight spray shot out just before the pilot light caught it and belched outward joining in the destruction of the 10th brought. Within scant moments he was airborne and baring witness to the entire bloody scene. In the distance he thought he caught a glimpse of two warriors separate from the entire conflict. Two Gods only visible in their stark contrast to their surroundings seemingly locked within a bubble at a higher speed than the rest of the scene. They had to be Primarchs, fathers of their respective families bloated with such power that he only could fantasize about. He could see the monstrous Titans looming on the horizon like ominous harbingers of untold destruction. They were colossal beings and a special place in his heart was held for those machines that brought the destructive force of most of a legion to bare in a single terrifying entity. And then his attention came back to the ground where they were landing. He found his weighty frame landing directly onto a scout marine. The poor soul could likely not understand the immense gravity of the battle he was locked in and what the outcome would mean and now he would never be able to share his story.

The marine crunched underneath him as the less robust scout armor buckled and crumpled under the blow and a magnificent fountain of blood involuntarily shot skyward from the marine's now bloody maw. He stomped the marine's abdomen again, and again, chuckling in the same grating distorted garble as the marine spat blood like a squirt gun until he didn't move anymore and a twang announced the presence of another scout trying to save and then avenge his brother's death but the lack of armament did little to help the Neophyte's cause. With superhuman reflexes his left arm shot out grabbing the armored chest piece of the scout; he was still laughing. The collar proved a capable handle and at once the scout was airborne being pulled towards the Destroyer like a catapult to have his soft unprotected face meet the brunt of the Mark III helmet pulling back revealing a face little more than hamburger but still breathing. Seeing the likely last two scouts from the group he cast the soul at them like a ragdoll watching the others try to dodge or catch their dying comrade which only eased his intent as he brought the flamer to bare and bathed the unsealed scouts in toxic fire. By now his chuckling had become a maddened laughter with the likeness of an unoiled machine screaming as it's metal parts scraped against each other only matched by the screams of the charring scouts as they became little more than black husks. He moved to join the 10th only to fall face first into the soil. He couldn't hear it; how could he over the noise where cannons the size of cities thundered forth. He couldn't be certain but judging by the fact that his left knee screamed in pain could only tell that a scout had used the precise sniper rifle to plant a round in the back of his knee cap. He felt it move so thankfully it was fired from a higher angle and moved down through his calve instead of blowing the knee cap out fully but it caused him agony for the moment.

Pain suppressants flooded through his system and he found himself numbed to the gunshot and climbed back up and kept moving. There was no second shot thankfully meaning either the scout was dead or moved onto other targets. He moved with a limp which meant little to the already slow lumbering speeds of the 10th Claw but that made it no less annoying.

“What have you done?”

Veptus’ tone was harsh over the combat and I laughed bitterly. “I didn’t strike down the Raven Guard Champion when I had the chance, because I owed him a life debt older than you brother. Now I will face Xandrek’s judgement on my crime. I hope only that the punishment will leave me with the ability to continue with my duties.”

Then combat snatched away any chance to continue the conversation as Xandrek’s jump pack launched him into the sky. Veptus followed closely after the captain, both of them landing amidst the Raven Guard some distance away. I didn’t follow, instead standing in the open space that remained. Night Lords surged around me, pressing deeper into the Raven Guard forces. I knew that I wouldn’t be returning from Xandrek’s punishment the same man that went into it, but then again the Azrael I once was died when we turned on the Imperium.

It all seemed so hopeless then, so pointless. I had no wish to fight in this war, doing so only because I was loyal to Xandrek. But did he deserve my loyalty? I had followed him for decades, but little I had seen truly explained my previously unwavering loyalty.

I was so tired. So weary of the struggle, the struggle to keep who I was amid the bloodthirsty savages that were my brothers. There were those who I respected and even liked. Xandrek, Raskreia, Veptus. But my legion was sick. It was a sickness that had been spreading ever since we found Curze and began taking recruits from Nostramo. That planet had corrupted my Father and my brothers, corrupted them beyond salvation. So many of them were twisted and vile, people who delighted in cruelty and revelled in blood lust. I sometimes wonder if it would’ve been better had we simply destroyed Nostramo when we first arrived in orbit. Maybe then we would’ve remained as the proud legion we once were, instead of what we became.

I was to be punished and the punishment would be a cruel one. It would be painful and long. I was being punished because I spared the man who saved my life one hundred and seventy years before.

It was a simpler galaxy then. We knew who our enemies were; we knew why we were fighting. Now? Now everything is blurred. I no longer know on which side of the line I stand, whether I am right or wrong. During that time we were told we were fighting for a cause. That we were fighting because the Emperor couldn’t be trusted to lead Humanity. But look what became of us, of all those who fought in the Heresy for Horus.

Horus died to the Emperor and his legion fled to the Eye of Terror, painting their armour black in mourning and sallying out against the Imperium occasionally in an attempt to finish what was started on Isstvan and ended on my home world. On Terra itself. Each time they are thrown back by the people they declare weak and incapable of defeating us.

Lorgar and his ilk would see all of reality condemned to madness and corruption, I often wonder if our father made a mistake saving him from the claws of the Raven. They sacrifice everything they once held dear for the power granted by fickle gods, gods that care naught for the struggles of mortals and watch us only for their own amusement

Angron and his World Eaters are now berserkers in truth. There is no sanity left in them, only the rage and the desire to kill, maim and burn everyone in their way. They led their Dominion of Fire across the stars and struck the Imperium in the first war for that planet they call Armageddon, but both times they failed. In their desire for what they believed to be power, they sacrificed that which made them great

Magnus is now far more powerful than he ever was before, despite the interference of the Son of Russ known as Ragnar, but his legion is broken. Save for a few, his once proud marines are nothing but dust in ancient armour. All the power at his command couldn’t save his Thousand Sons.

Mortarion and his legion are nothing but bloated plague carriers now. Festering husks filled with disease. Everything that made them who they once were is gone, replaced by the ‘benedictions’ of Nurgle.

Perturabo cowers on Medrengard and his Iron Warriors do so with him. They hide in their fortresses of black steel and stone and call themselves masters of the siege while practising their skills on each other.

Alpharius vanished and his Alpha Warriors did so with him. They wreak havoc throughout the Imperium, infiltrating its worlds and its infrastructure and tearing them apart from within. But they fear to face the Imperium in open warfare and flee when danger threatens.

Fulgrim and his legion are now a mockery of what they were before. They yearned for perfection once, a noble if unattainable goal. Now they revel in excess, uncaring of all they once strove for. Fulgrim was once called the Pheonician in remberance for how his legion rose from the ashes but now they have willingly returned to them once again.

Curze is dead, the Night Lords are broken. We haven’t been a legion in a long time. We are a motley collection of war bands, led by men who once called themselves captain but now demand to be addressed as lord. These men who call themselves lord fear each other to the point where they always stand alone. They stand alone, they fight alone and they die alone.

These are the names that once made the whole galaxy tremble. Some of us were praised by the people we met, greeted as heroes and saviours. Others received respect, viewed as conquerors. Now we are demons in the night, terrors that haunt the dreams of Humanity

How far we’ve fallen.

More and more often as of late I find myself thinking that it would be better if I just put my pistol to the side of my head and pulled the trigger. But no. My debt to Xandrek is paid in full and I would have my death mean something more than my life did.

On that dark day however I followed my captain into the thick of it once again. I cut down two men without breaking stride, but lost my left forearm to the third when he opened fire with a plasma rifle at point blank range. My power sword sliced the weapon in two even as my arm was incinerated and the Raven Guard screamed as the gun exploded, bathing him in incandescent blue.

I was in agony from the lost arm, but I refused to cry out. I knew I had far worse to look forward to when Xandrek punished me for my actions. Still, it dazed me for a few seconds and gave a fourth Raven Guard time to leap at me, firing several shots with his bolt pistol and swinging with his Chainsword, only for me to duck out of the way.

He too fell to my blade, recovering too slow from his wild attack to stop it plunging into his throat and out the other side. I ripped the blade free in a spurt of blood and drove deeper into the chaos.

The ground shook as the trampling Brother Shen tore past Tyberus, pressing into the lines of Raven Guard that tried to stand their ground and fight back the monstrous Contemptor Dreadnought. The massive power fist wreathed in crackling white and purple energies crushing and sundering Raven Guard as they rushed towards his armored form, their bolt rounds panging off harmlessly as he tore those close enough to him into pieces. The rapid thud of Shen's Kheres assault cannon echoed over the immediate surroundings, but were still somehow lost into the background noise of the awe inspiring conflict they waded further into.

"Take flight and rain terror onto them Brother Tyberus!!" The heavily digitized voice of Shen erupted over the vox, so loud and grating that it was almost painful to Tyberus' ears, but he did as ordered and fired his jet pack, bursting off of the ground and again he was able to look out onto the battlefield in its greater expanse, it was breathtaking and incredible, the flares of gunfire and screams of war as far as his eyes could see. Firing his thrusters again, he careened down into the midst of the Raven Guard that were advancing onto the position of Raskreia, some 15 or 20 meters ahead of where the banner of the 4th Company fluttered in the wind.

His power maul struck the ground with the concentrated force of a meteor, the shockwaves of the power field that the weapon created seemingly caught the advancing tactical squad offguard. Tyberus quickly scanned the squad, assessing them in the order in which he would need to dispatch of them, a Raven Legionaire wielding a meltagun quickly jump to the front of the pack in his mind. Fluidly he brought his maul back up, the Legionaire was trying to bring his gun up in order to fire off the shot that would turn the Night Lord into super heated pulp. Tyberus unusually powerful build however allowed him to wield the maul with surprising speed and accuracy, he wondered how wide the eyes were of his foe when he brought his maul crashing down into the meltagun, the weapon shattering like glass upon impact, the Raven Guard's hands disappeared in a gush of gore and crackling energies. The stroke of the weapon carried through on a downward trajerctory and the power maul continued on its destructive path, striking the Legionaire in the groin. The shriek that emerged from the Legionaire was reminiscent to Tyberus of the cries and screams of Nostramon women in the slum hive cities as they were murdered or raped. The sickening thought made Tyberus grin wildly, hidden by his helmet, tearing his weapon back from the ruined form of the doubled over Raven Guard and stomping on his neck after he hit the ground.

The crunch underfoot of the meltagun Legionaire's neck was audible to all within striking distance of Tyberus. Planting off of the dead Legionaire's neck Tyberus swung his maul around, bringing the weapon up and striking home under the jaw of a Raven Guard who had stowed his bolter and drawn a chain sword. The maul took the Legionaire's head clean off, leaving his body to fall asunder to the dirt.

Finding himself in a rather off balance position from the upward strike Tyberus quickly drew his stormbolter and unleashed a salvo into a Raven Guard that stood just out of melee range. The thudding, alternating barrage of the stormbolter took its toll as huge chunks of ceramite were gouged out of the Raven Guard's armor. When he was pushed back by the storm bolter the Legionaire tried desperately to bring his own bolter up, but at such short range the Stormbolter continued to chew into the armor until each resounding thud was no longer met with the 'shunk' sound of hitting ceramite and instead the bolt rounds made a wet slapping noise as they tore into the flesh of the Raven Guard Legionaire. The sheer volume of bolt rounds almost instantly took him down and Tyberus' arrogant laugh was the last thing the Raven Guard would hear before his world went black.

Bounding in to support what was likely his squad, a Raven Guard warrior wielding dual lightning claws emerged, sprinting, pushing his way past several Brothers to meet the power maul wielding traitor. The lighting clawed warrior was quick, even by Astartes standards. The distance he closed was incredible and at the last Tyberus was able to stow his stormbolter and take up his power maul with two hands to block the two handed downward slash the Raven Guard attempted. The smell of burning metal and ceramite could be picked up through his rebreather grille as the very tips of the Raven Guard's claws dug into the lower section of his reinforced MK III helm, his gorget also bore the claw marks of the Raven Guard. With a mighty shove he pushed the Raven Guard back, and the battle seemed to flow around them as the Raven Guard gave way to what appeared to be a Veteran Sergeant, allowing him to dispose of his Night Lord foe in one on one combat. "Whatever your name is beast of Kurze, you shall be remembered as nothing more than a traitor who's life was taken at the hands of Sergeant Atilia, Loyal to the Emperor!" The name was of no import to Tyberus, but Atilia was a veteran sergeant of with a very comendable service record and had Tyberus known who he was, he might have second guessed himself against such a master of close combat. "I shall rip and tear your wings and break you little bird!" Tyberus snarled back and lunged forward, swinging his power maul with near wild abandon with a slashing motion that took the weapon from an overhead angle down and to his right.

Atilia was as graceful in combat as a raven might be in flight and expertly brought up his left lighting claw, placing it in the path of the power maul. The Raven Guard sergeant did not place force enough on his left hand to try and outright block the strike, instead he applied just enough, redirecting the weapon just slightly to ensure that it would miss him wide to his left, leaving an opening for his lunging right lightning claw.

Too late Tyberus saw his folly, but his reaction time was still impeccable, turning his left shoulder as much as he could so the piercing lightning claw would only dig into his shoulder. Atilia sought to press his claw deeper and the claws dug in deeper, now pushing past the thick ceramite and into the muscled shoulder underneath. Tyberus let go with his left hand and with his power maul only in his right hand, he jab out with the weapon, striking Atilia squarely in the chest with the energy wreathed maul, cracking the ceramite plate and knocking the Sergeant back. "Keep using your body as a shield savage, I have no qualms with bleeding you dry!" Atilia called over the battlefield, his attempts to goad Tyberus unfortunately worked on the arrogant and savage Night Lord.

Tyberus again leapt after the Raven Guard Sergeant, again he brought his maul overhead and brought the weapon downwards. He could see Atilia setting his feet and readying his claws to again redirect and counter. The maul then crashed down with all of his fury and weight into the ground just in front of Atilia, the tremor and backlash of energy crackled upwards sending the Raven Guard Sergeant's feet back, knocking him off balance. In that moment Tyberus brought his weapon back up in a fluid followup, this time bringing the weapon out wide and then slashing it back across in a horizontal strike aimed at Atilia's right shoulder.

The Sergeant had no choice but to brace himself, bringing up his right clawed hand in an effort to shield his head and torso to 'block' the oncoming blow. In that sense his tactic was successful, but the crunch and pop as the power maul struck, followed by the laughter of Tyberus was enough to know that the lack of feeling in his right arm was as much to do with the shock his body was experiencing as much as it was due to his arm no longer being there. Tyberus snarled out and he then jabbed out again with the maul, this time striking the pauldron protecting Atilia's left shoulder. Atilia, dogged and experienced as he was made use of his remaining claw, trying to parry and redirect what attacks he could, but without his right arm he no longer held much threat of a counter and Tyberus pressed his advantage relentlessly.

Again his jabbing maul struck the left pauldron, this time the plating gave way completely and Tyberus follow up with a strike precisely at the shoulder joint. Atilia screamed in agony as his arm fell away from his body. Less in pain and more in anger and frustration that, without either arm, he would fall prey to this savage beast that belonged to Kurze's flock of murders, rapists and traitors. Tyberus kicked Atilia square in the chest knocking him onto his back. Tyberus quickly stowed his power maul and picked up the remains of Atilia's left arm, its claw was still in tact, but no longer held any power field, having been disconnected from its power source. The sadistic Night Lord hefted the ceramite covered arm in his right hand, "Lighter than my maul," he observed, his tone was tinged with sarcasm. He swung the severed arm down upon Atilia as he struggled to get to his feet. Kicking him in the torso until he fell over again and he struck him with his own severed arm repeatedly. The impact was enough to jar Atilia's head around, but these were not killing blows, they were meant to antagonize and prolong the death of an Astartes whose exemplary career did not deserve to be mocked in such a way. All the more reason he -did- deserve it Tyberus thought. Finally he upended the severed arm and drove the unpowered claws down into the vox grille of the fallen and prone Marine at his feet. He then produced his maul and drove that down on top of the severed arm, the crackling energy of the maul effortlessly tore through the arm and into the head of Atilia. The Veteran Sergeant's headless, armless body was left to be claimed by the dust and grime of the charred soil they fought upon. Tyberus strode away from his kill shouting "I told you I'd rip and tear your wings!!", wading further into the battle, seeking to rendezvous with his Captain.

Azrael: You manage to begin cutting your way towards the Captain and Veptus however they have been using their jump packs and you have not so they are still quite a way ahead of you and getting further and further into the main battle itself and because of the loss of your arm your reduced to using only your sword in your right hand giving any opponent that comes at you an advantage when ever they attach your left side. Which luckily for you isn't many as more and more of all the other companies of the Eighth Legion begin streaming down into the Urrgal Depression intent on claming as many trophies from their 'loyal' brothers as possible before the slaughter is complete though the three loyalist legions are putting up one hell of a resistance.

Carving your way for two assault marines of the Raven Guard Legion you see Brother Shen come charging past you and slam into a knot of Raven Guard marines scattering them like leaves in the wind as he lays about with his monstrous powerfist and opening up with his kheres assault pattern cannon, clearly intent on venting all of the rage and pain he is feeling at being turned into a dreadnought when he was still able to serve without being interred, and you think to yourself that it is entirely possible you will be joining Shen and so many others of Fourth Company sealed inside of a ceramite and adamantium tomb to wage war until Xandrek orders you torn from your coffin and burnt. (Feel free to kill up to another 3 marines before catching up with Xandrek and Veptus.)

Veptus: What ever Azrael had done had clearly annoyed Xandrek as the economical swings and thrusts of Xandrek's usual fighting style where gone as he simply hacked his way through any Raven Guard in his way leaving them without limbs bleeding on the floor, with opened gushing throats or toppling headless corpses and any that weren't within range he simple raised his bolter that was in his left hand with his tower shield firmly attached to his fore-arm, and shoot them. "Keep up Veptus, we have much knife work to do today." You hear Xheng's voice over your vox followed by the cackling laughter of all of the rest of his Raptors as they tear through the Raven Guard with six of them leaping into the air to deal with some oncoming Raven Guard assault marines.

Ravens and Crows, what an unusual aerial fight that would be you muse as you manage to catch up with Xandrek as he extracts his blade from an apocatheries face place and slams his foot down on the gene-seed vials at the marines waist. "Veptus, you have the codes for your Apprentices and Colleagues vox channels. I want an update from every apocathery under my command." While you turn your vox into the apocathery channel your plasma pistol takes the life of a veteran Sergeant of the Raven Guard helping one of his squad members to his feet, or it would of been feet if he hadn't been missing his left leg from the knee down. When you ask of a report from the others of the Apocatherion you get a reply back from almost all of them save Brother-Apocathery Thex and Apocathery-Minoris Caleb, which after some inquiry (should you even bother) you find out that the two of them got caught by as you so eloquently put it: The Wrong Bird which means that the Lord of the Nineteenth is near, something you must warn Xandrek about as you see him stop to observe the Word Bearers finally getting stuck into the fray as the Captain then nods to you and points up towards where you can see the Urizen standing with his First Chaplain and First Captain on the ridge.

Var: OOC: Still need you to post for the previous update.

Tyberus: You manage to follow the cleared path that Shen has opened up in the ranks of the Raven Guard and find yourself confronted with Azrael who is missing almost all of his left arm and judging from the marks on his arm it was taken off by a plasma weapon, something he was lucky of because if the angle had been shallower judging by the burns on his chest plate then it would of killed him almost instantly if it had indeed connected with his torso. You can either try to help Azrael or you can ignore the Champion of Fourth and set off after your captain whose crested helmeted head you can see further in the distance with the form of the Corpse-Master near by along with all of Xheng's raptor squad as they lay about a group of Raven Guard with some of the Raptors locked in an aerial duel with assault marines of the Raven Guard.

As Shen continues to smash his way through the Raven Guard to your left you see the other bulky forms of the rest of Fourth Companies dreadnoughts join him and crushing all those stand before them with their armour being proof against almost all forms of attack save those lucky las-cannon shots which rock them back or to the side thanks to the shielding build into the form of the Contemptor Dreadnought chassis. You are now able to join your Captain and Veptus where the two of them begin heading off further into the melee with only Xandrek himself having any idea what he is doing with the rest of First Claw simply just trying to keep up with him. (Feel free to kill up to another 3 raven guard.)

Pelegon: You jump forward off of the boulder and slam down in between a rough circle of ten figures and with half of them turning their helmets to regard you to see if you are an enemy before each of them giving you a slight nod. You look around at the circle of ten figures and see each one towers over you, each armed with either a power sword, lightning claw, power fist in one hand and the other carrying combi-bolters with two carrying reaper auto-cannons. You then realize you have landed admits Second Claw, Fourth Companies single terminator squad as the ten of them trudge their way forward in an effort to keep up with their faster moving brothers as you see that while each suit of armour is heavily customized and bearing trophy wracks and chains, some of which have raven guard heads and helmets hanging from them, the suits themselves are Cattiphractti mark terminator armour. Your vox then lights up and you get a message from their sergeant, Brother-Sergeant Nyx who you recall from looking over the rosters of the three companies aboard the 'Maiden' has served with Xandrek since them both being elevated at the same time.

"You are far from your squad Brother-Pelegon. The Lord of Lies and the Corpse-Master are far ahead of us, you will need to 'grow' some wings in order to catch them." Nyx appears to be speaking in low Gothic which is heavily accented given he is Nostramon. "Unless of course you wish to fight with my brothers and myself then we could use that Melta-Gun of yours. We are hunting after that." Sergeant Nyx, the foremost of the terminators raises his chain-fisted left hand to point at a knot of three Raven Guard Contemptor Dreadnoughts currently smashing their way through the ranks of the 157th Company. the third most company of the 'Maiden'.

Raskreia: OOC: Making you an npc until you message me.

Serhiy: You manage to keep up the members of Tenth Claw for a few moments before they gun their jump packs and set off into the skies obviously heading off towards where ever the imperial army was at the other end of the crater where their weapons would have much more effect than the heavily armoured bodies of the Astartes. As you limp toward someone crashes down beside you and you see that it is Apocathery Rasiel who is on one eye as he raises his bolter to his right eye and puts two shots into a Raven Guard assault marine blowing out both of his eyes lens with marksmanship almost equal to that of Veptus and you remember that Rasiel is the Corpse-Masters main apprentice and eventual successor should anything happen to the half-sane Nostramon Primus Medicae of Fourth. "You are injured Brother Serhiy, if you wait but a moment and keep these Ravens off of us I shall see to your knee and that you will be able to catch up with 10th Claw or set off after our Captain."

Rasiel places three move shots into the throats of two more 19th Legionaries before examining the wound on your knee for a moment before he sets to work with his Narthecarium probing your wound before extracting the solid round from within the flesh of your calve, reattaching some of the muscle together and testing the ligaments and nerves before covering the wound with synth-flesh. Standing up he nods his head to you before setting off deeper into the fray allowing you to make a decision of where you go from here. (Feel free to kill up to another 2-4 raven guard how you wish, along with either making your way to Xandrek or going after 10th claw.)

Clearly whatever Azrael’s sin was, it weighed heavily on Xandrek. Veptus watch his Captain, usually so careful and economical with his thrusts and parries. Now he simply battered his foes into submission, all grace and fluidity was gone from his motions. Xandrek may as well have wielded a hammer for all the subtlety his movements had to them. It could be simply fatigue, but Veptus had seen Xandrek fight for longer than this and not tire. No it was Azrael. If his actions cost Xandrek his life because he would not focus on the massacre around him, Azrael’s sin would compound itself and Veptus would exact Xandrek’s vengeance for him.

"Keep up Veptus, we have much knife work to do today." Xheng’s maniacal laughter sounded through the vox as he and his Raptors tore into more Raven Guard.
“I had entirely forgotten. My thanks brother.” Veptus barked back in a sarcastic lullaby. Xheng cut down another Raven Guard and did a little bow.
”I live to serve Corpse-Master.” Veptus sneered. Preening ass. Veptus disembowelled another XIXth Legionary with a vicious flick of his sword Xandrek was moving further into the press of black all around them and Veptus kept having to gun his jump pack to keep up. He couldn’t look around him. He didn’t know if they were moving up unsupported. All he knew was he had to keep pace with Xandrek. That was his duty and he would not fail in that.

Veptus landed behind Xandrek, a slice of his sword taking off the arm of a Raven Guard. A forceful kick sent the man stumbling back to be cut down by a Night Lord Veptus didn’t know. Xandrek noticed his presence. "Veptus, you have the codes for your Apprentices and Colleagues vox channels. I want an update from every apocathery under my command." He nodded curtly, his plasma pistol firing and ending the life or a Veteran Sergeant who had stopped to help his brother up. Foolish really. The only one Veptus would pause to help would be Xandrek. The others would have to struggle through whatever wounds they suffered. He would attend them later.

He blink clicked his vox channel to all the Apothecaries of the 4th Company. “Apothecaries, I want reports.” He waited as several Night Lords pushed past him, putting distance between him and the killing blades of the XIXth. Repots began to filter back from each of his apothecaries. Brother-Apothecary Ja’Thul sounded ragged and Veptus suspected he had sustained wounds to his throat or chest, but he reported in. Apothecary-Minoris Belamey reported in. This was his first battle as an Apothecary and he spoke of many casualties. That was expected really.

Several others reported in, telling of men they had killed and those they had given peace to. Each had killed at least one apothecary of the Raven Guard, some more than one. However, two he received no reply from. One, Brother-Apocathery Thex, his vox unit had died. That meant, if nothing else, that his helmet was destroyed. However, others reported see him cut down. Other merely reported hearing him die. In any case, Veptus could be sure he was dead. Another simply didn’t respond, Apocathery-Minoris Caleb.

“Does anyone have eyes on Apothecary Caleb?” Veptus snarled. His veneer was beginning to crack. A long silence.
“I’ve got him in hand.” It was Brother-Apothecary Rasiel, his successor.
“In hand?” There was a sigh.
“He’s a mess sir. Torso’s torn apart, leg missing, arm…” A muffled grunt, then a tone of surprise. “…fucking hell, he’s still alive.” Another pause, although Veptus could make out a barely audible sound of gargling. “He says it was Corax. Corpse-Master, I’m about 1 kilometer from your position.” Veptus knew that, and the thought of the Lord of the XIXth bearing down on them was not a pleasant one.
“Give him peace and then continue with your orders.” He responded authoritatively and various chimes of acceptance sounded through the vox.

Whereas they had once been at the forefront of the melee, Veptus and Xandrek were now several row behind the front-line. Xandrek was watching the hillside and Veptus followed his vision. A tide of red was pouring down the hill side. Lorgar’s sons had finally decided to join the fray. He spotted some of their number that he would swear were bounding forward on their hands and feet, like animals. Veptus’s eyes looked for any reason not to look at them, and found one at the end of Xandrek’s outstretched hand. The Urizen stood on the ridge surveying the battle with his First Captain and First Chaplain. Veptus didn’t like them. There was something serpentine about them. “That is not the primarch we should be looking for Captain. Corax is nearby, looking to take vengeance for this betrayal.” Veptus let the words hand and waited for Xandrek’s lead, for where the Lord of Lies went, Veptus was duty bound to follow…

Beneath his helmet, a tight semi-smile graced Pelegon's features. His meltagun was deadly enough, but it would not suffice to destroy three contemptors. The Iron Warrior nodded, and with the release of a lever and shrug of his shoulders offloaded his jump-pack. It was close to overheating, not being designed to take his armour's immense weight, and the Olympian had abused it to within an inch of tolerable parameters. With a slight whirr the antenna from his nuncio-vox extended itself from the powerpack's casing, and it switched itself on, hooking into the communication grid; however, it was the that of the IVth legion, not the VIIIth.

"Understand that the men you will lose to this is still far less than what those contemptors will manage unchecked"

Nyx looked puzzled, but he was not a stupid man, and understood, nodding. Pelegon scrambled up a boulder to get a better view, the scrape of ceramite on sandstone inaudible over the cacophony of battle. When up, Pelegon observed the trio of contemptors; black-armoured monstrosities that were tearing through the Night Lords with abandon. Ideally, he would have told Nyx to order the 157th to disperse, but that would risk the contemptors doing the same in order to pursue. As it was, they were tightly packed and perfectly situated, and at that moment the Iron Warrior's arms itched for a missile launcher or lascannon. With one of those in his arms, he was confident that he would be able to dispatch the three in less than a minute. As it was...

Pelegon's cogitator contained a map, and it took less than a second for the marine's augmented mind to find what it was after; gun emplacements belonging to the IVth legion, of the IInd, XVth, Lth and CXCIInd companies were south-east of their current position, and in a few moments he had voxed through to two emplacements, having already calculated exactly what was needed for the situations.

"This is Centurion Pelegon of the Ist Grand Company - 132mm saturation bombardment, 0.57 tons, 25-1, 38-5, targets moving south-by-south-west at approximately 1.7 metres per second"

There was a brief pause as Pelegon's signal credentials were verified - he licked his lips, hoping that his ranks and permissions hadn't been revoked for the duration of his placement in the VIIIth. Luck, insofar as it existed, was on the Iron Warrior's side that day.

"Affirmative. Danger close inbound, Centurion, twenty seconds. Iron Within"

"Iron Without" Pelegon growled, and disconnected, hopping off the rock and landing with a thud that shook the ground beneath his feet, Nyx and his squad staring at him as if demanding an explanation - by way of reply, Pelegon turned to watch the trio of contemptors, pointing with a finger.

The gunner had been as good as his word - eighteen seconds later, a familiar whistle filled the air - the Night Lords in and near the fire zone had time to glance up - exactly two seconds later the contemptors disappeared in the storm of mud and sand the explosions threw up. Every muscle in his body tensed, Pelegon watched his legion's glorious handiwork as shell after shell tore into the earth, beating it with fists of fury as if daring it to defy their might, the whistling of a successor audible as soon as one shell had detonated, such was the speed with which the Iron Warrior gunners could reload their pieces. Within ten seconds, it was over, exactly fifteen shells having been dropped in an area not more than thirty square metres.

The Iron Warrior narrowed his eyes, gaze well-adjusted to picking out targets - usually to butcher them with volley after murderous volley of bolter fire before they could recover from the hellish barrage that Perturabo's master artillerymen had just unloaded onto them. However, this time it was purely an intellectual pursuit, and he nodded in satisfaction as he saw that the three giants had been reduced to twisted scraps of ceramite so bent and broken that no individual surviving part was larger than Pelegon's arm, covered in mud, dirt and strewn this way and that. Of the handful of Night Lords, Pelegon would guess no more than two or three, that had been caught in the barrage, nothing remained. Those near the explosion zone, but not within it, had been thrown back off their feet, but the Iron Warrior could see them rising to their feet, shaken but alive. The fools, not to divide so much as a meltagun or meltabomb among so large a company. That, or they had been so busy clambering over each other in an attempt to save their own skins that no weapons of sufficient power to bring down the dreadnoughts could be brought to bear.

"Iron Within, Iron Without" Pelegon growled, the tension simmering in every clenched muscle and the strain of his voice. How he yearned to fire a cannon, to feel the earth rumble from its recoil, to see roaring death sailing toward his enemies...all this and more he yearned, but was not to be, at least not for now. Pelegon would do his duty, and that was good.

"Brother sergeant, I hope that I have been of assistance. Do you require further help, or may I regroup with Captain Xandrek?"

Tyberus moved forward, "My thanks Brother Shen!" he shouted to the massive Contemptor who carried on with his carnage, his Brother Dreadnoughts joining him in savaging the lines of the Raven Guard before them. Much of the fire was now shifting towards the assemblage of Dreadnoughts and Tyberus walked forward, towards Captain Xandrek.

As he pressed forward, firing into Raven Guard as he did so, he saw, embroiled in combat the Champion of the 4th Company, Azrael. The Champion's left arm was gone almost in its entirety. TYberus had few words for Azrael, beyond simply urging him onward, "We must rally to the Captain!" His march continued, as he got closer to Xandrek and Veptus, and further from the Dreadnoughts the Raven Guard paid him some attention.

Two Raven Guard quickly came at him ins swooping passes utilizing their jump packs with expert skill. They dropped down low, their lightning claws positioned to rake along his power armor. Tyberus grinned beneath his helm, bringing his storm bolter up, the thumping percussion of rapid fire bolt rounds roared to life, chewing into the ceramite of one of the Raven Guard. His jet pack was struck and the propellant within was ignited by the percussive bolt rounds. With a wail, the Astartes was engulfed in explosive flames as he was veiled in a sudden wreath of fire that plumed out and up. The second Raven Guard landed and made reckless attacks with his lightning claws, the signature weapon of his Legion. Tyberus snarled, bringing his maul up in both hands and bringing the massive weapon down in an overhead strike. The distance was just enough that the Raven Guard was out of range to use his own lightning claws, and his only means of defense were his lightning claws, brought up braced against each other.

The crushing force of the maul was simply too much for the Raven Guard to repel. The maul broke through, under the sheer power of Tyberus, the power fields briefly flared up in unison and then the sickening wet thud of the maul connecting with the Raven Guard's helmet echoed out. The Raven Guard's body fell lifelessly as Tyberus kicked the body over and pressed forward, calling out to his captain. "Captain Xandrek! What are your orders!?" He bellowed readying himself to be flung along with the rest of his Claw deeper into the waves of combat that crashed about on the surface of Istvaan.

Lamentably late to the battle, their lander had impacted hard upon the rocky surface, crushing it's skids and undercarriage into nothing due to the pilots' eagerness to make up for their tardiness.
Showers of sodium yellow sparks cascaded from it's belly as unyielding rock tore screeching rents in the transport's belly, carving huge gouges along it's flanks and smashing apart the nose before half-burying itself into a small outcrop.

Momentarily dazed and confused, a handful of voices cursed the aviators. But a glance into a demolished crew compartment sprayed with arterial juices told them that vehemence towards already-departed souls would be pointless.

Almost half the unit had already been lost...granite and other rocks had impaled and torn them in two. Halved bodies still strapped into their chairs, they hung like so much dripping meat upon butchers' hooks.

"Spare no thoughts for the dead!" his Sergeant shouted to the remaining men as Kesh thought of the loss of his brothers before they could even draw weapons.
"It only leaves more enemy for the rest of us!" he yelled back in reply, drawing laughter from the rest of the unit.

With his brothers already trying to manhandle the remaining door open, Kesh took a little extra time to turn away whilst attaching the shield along his back. Although it was too bulky to wear during flight, he still swore at himself for the time it took.

Kesh had never really put much faith in luck or chance before, but those additional seconds certainly saved his life: The whoosh of several incoming rockets could not be masked by the battles outside, but there was scant cover amongst the scattered boxes of wargear and none of them would ever stoop so low as to use a living brother as a shield.

The Krak warheads took care of the (formerly) reluctant door, opening it in milliseconds and -like peeling fruit- broke open the Astartes armour ranked behind it.
As flaming plate-sized pieces of metal and armour careened through the hold, only his remote position and shield saved Kesh from a similar fate.

When the hellish reverberations had stopped and he picked himself up, Kesh scanned for signs of life but found none. Finally he knew in his heart that there could be no turning back from the war he had been thrust into.

Cautiously peering around the edges of the shattered portal, he spied a shotgun-armed Raven Guard scout approaching to inspect their Legion's handiwork.
When the enemy rounded a corner and peered into the darkness of the smashed craft, Kesh drove his deactivated chainfist deep in, shattering the man's carapace armour chest-plate. The Raven Guard's young body spasmed wildly as it came to terms with the sudden impalement.

Gazing into his foe's clouding eyes, Kesh whispered: "You thought my unit dead, but the 8th Legion shall show you there is still one who draws breath."
Thoughts of revulsion and loss filling his mind, Kesh turned his face away as the chainfist activated and tore the trainee into a bloody mass of chunky gobbets and rent entrails.

Cold rationality returned to his mind: with no unit to call his own, Kesh would need to prove his mettle to a new leader. He began scrolling through his memories of names and unit-designations for a suitable chief, settling upon one named Xandrek as a worthy leader.