"The Emperor guides my blade!"
Vrrr-zzzzzt!
Accompanied by the rhythmic roar of a chainsword, Malum Caedo vaulted across a jagged fissure in the warped ground. As a grotesque, Chaos-tainted beast lunged from the shadows, Caedo side-stepped, his chainsword carving a bloody arc through the creature's tooth-filled maw. The hound-like monstrosity collapsed, its blue ichor spraying across the blighted earth.
Beyond the fissure lay a formidable perimeter wall, still under construction. A group of cultists, their flesh branded with the eight-pointed star of Chaos, cracked whips over a line of slaves, wretches so mutated they were barely recognizable as human, forcing them to haul crates of ammunition toward a fortified bunker.
Caedo's bolter had long since run dry, and the motor of his chainsword was whining sluggishly. From the moment he and nineteen of his battle-brothers had descended in their assault landing craft, the fighting had been relentless. During their atmospheric insertion, a bolt of chaotic sorcery had crippled their craft, though the reinforced hull of the ship had spared them the fate of a lighter Valkyrie.
When the ship finally crashed, only fourteen of the twenty remained; the pilot and others had perished in the impact. Before the ramp had fully descended, they were swarmed by Thousand Sons Rubric Marines. A hail of bolter fire tore into the hold, claiming three battle-brothers instantly. Behind the Rubricae stood two Thousand Sons Sorcerers, their staves crackling with warp-fire. A spell of stasis swept the hold, freezing the survivors in place.
But Caedo was a veteran of the First Company. The Iron Halo fixed to his power armour flared with brilliant light. It was a rare piece of archeotech, a gift from Chief Librarian Varro Tigurius following the successful conclusion of a previous purge mission. It pulsed with a harmonic frequency designed to repel warp-craft and bolster resistance to the corruption of the Empyrean. The Iron Halo's unexpected activation caught the Sorcerers off-guard, providing Caedo the split-second he needed to break free.
As the Rubricae advanced to secure their captives, Caedo unleashed a blast from his plasma pistol, liquefying both Sorcerers. Then, blind with fury, he demonstrated the lethal efficiency of a First Company veteran to his remaining kin.
He carved the helmet from the nearest Rubric Marine with his chainsword, then, discarding his overheating plasma pistol, lunged forward to seize another traitor by the helm. He ripped it clean off. These Rubricae were already dead, their souls bound to their power armour by Ahriman's arcane decree; to tear off the helmet was to decapitate the soul within. A kaleidoscope of raw, trapped psychic energy erupted from the hollow suit of armour as it collapsed.
"I shall erase the stain they have left upon this galaxy!" Caedo roared. "While I have breath, I shall not falter! While I stand, I shall fight! While I fight, I shall surely triumph!"
With a savage battle cry, Caedo carved his way forward, single-handedly butchering over a dozen traitors.
"Death is the only reward for traitors and heretics!"
His battle-brothers rallied to his stirring roar, pushing ahead, but the ground soon buckled. A violent, artificial quake erupted, the earth heaving upward into razor-sharp spikes as if trying to sunder the squad. Caedo, leveraging his preternatural agility, cleared the tremor zone, sprinting ahead through a gauntlet of twisted beasts and bio-mechanical flora.
This mission was not a purge; it was reconnaissance. Every Astartes earns their place through trial, from the Scout Company to the hallowed ranks of the Battle Companies. As a veteran of the First Company, Caedo's prowess eclipsed that of the line-company warriors, and his aptitude for reconnaissance was second to none. A seasoned veteran observes the details that escape others, and it was this hard-won experience that allowed Caedo to navigate the traps laid by the Thousand Sons.
"To think a hound of the Corpse-Emperor could penetrate this far. An Ultramarine. Heh."
"I told you those sorcerous fools were unreliable."
Two voices cut through the air, accompanied by armored silhouettes nearby. Their slate-grey power armour and the iron-skull icon of the Iron Warriors stood in stark contrast to the warped, psychic landscape.
"Traitors! I will plant you in the dirt! Confess your sins to the Emperor!"
Before the words had left his lips, Caedo charged, his sluggish chainsword swinging in a vicious, overhead arc at the nearest traitor. The speed of his strike defied the expectations of the Iron Warriors. However, their augmetic implants kicked in, allowing for a desperate reaction. One raised a chainaxe to intercept, while the other raised his bolter.
Caedo flowed into a low, upward strike, jamming his chainsword into the traitor's armpit within a nanosecond. The motor whined as it hit hardened sub-dermal plates, stalling, but the obstruction rendered the traitor's chainaxe useless. Caedo intended to use the traitor as a human shield, but the second foe was already firing.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Two bolt-rounds detonated against Caedo's shoulder guard, blowing away layers of ceramite. Ignoring the feedback of pain, Caedo whipped out his combat knife, driving it deep into the joint of his opponent's arm. Two heavy, precise strikes later, the arm, chainaxe and all, went limp. It was then Caedo realized he had been fighting an augmetic limb protected by heavy plating.
His stalling chainsword had finally bitten through the alloy skeleton, and as Caedo shattered the joint with his combat knife, the entire limb fell away. With predatory grace, Caedo caught the severed augmetic arm, ducked a clumsy elbow strike, and swung the seized chainaxe into the traitor's head. The roar of the axe silenced as it shattered both helm and chest-plate.
As the traitor fell, Caedo side-stepped a burst of bolter fire from the survivor, snatched up a dropped bolter pistol in a single fluid motion, and rolled across the ground. In the same movement, he unleashed a single shot, vaporizing the remaining Iron Warrior's head in a spray of blood and ceramite shards.
"Scum. Bleed for your sins!"
Giving the two corpses a final glance of disdain, Caedo reclaimed his chainsword and plunged into the ranks of the cultists and slave-labourers. Raging with the Emperor's fury, he turned the clearing into a slaughterhouse, his ceramite-clad fists and combat knife doing the work of a heavy weapon squad.
As he tore open the crates the slaves had been transporting, Caedo finally found what he had been seeking most: fresh ammunition and cold, hard ordnance.
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