Cassian's breath thundered in his ears, each inhale rattling against the inside of his helmet. The power armor moved with him, the machine spirit flowing through his limbs like molten steel in his veins. His grip tightened around the handle of his chainsword, the teeth purring softly as they idled. In his other hand, his Godwyn-pattern boltgun felt like an extension of his arm, the blessed weight reassuring.
The battlefield was a haze of smoke and blood. The stink of ozone from lasfire mixed with the wet, coppery tang of spilled entrails. The distant roar of artillery rolled like a storm over the hive's shattered spires, and the sky above burned crimson. Fires raged in the streets. Screams echoed in the dark.
And there, standing amidst the carnage, was the Herald.
It towered over the mortal soldiers, its body a grotesque mockery of flesh and brass. Armor forged in the furnaces of hell gleamed beneath the blood-stained sky, and its eyes burned with the hate of a thousand slaughtered souls. A jagged crown of bone jutted from its skull, and in its massive claws, it wielded a blade that shimmered with warp-born hunger. Each step it took left molten scars in the rockcrete.
Cassian's heart slammed against his ribs. He could feel it. The weight of its presence pressed against his mind, a cold hand curling around his soul. He fought to push it back, his will clashing against the tide of rage and slaughter that poured from the daemon like heat from a forge.
Focus.
He raised his boltgun. The machine spirit whispered to him, the ammo counter flickering softly in his visor. Full magazine. Blessed rounds. Each shot a prayer. He centered the reticle over the creature's chest and squeezed the trigger.
The boltgun barked, each shot a deafening roar that punched through the smoke. The explosive shells hammered into the Herald's flesh, detonating on impact, but the daemon barely slowed. It turned toward him, red eyes locking onto his visor. It roared, a sound that ripped through the air like a warhorn from hell.
Cassian moved. His armor surged with power, pistons hissing as he threw himself aside. The Herald's blade smashed into the ground where he'd stood, shattering stone and sending shards of rockcrete skittering across his armor. He rolled to his feet, firing as he moved, the boltgun bucking in his hands.
Faster. The machine spirit whispered. Cassian felt it hum through his body, guiding his movements. His steps became lighter. His aim sharper. He felt the armor become an extension of himself, no longer a suit but a second skin.
The Herald charged, faster than something its size should have been. Cassian barely threw himself clear, feeling the heat of the warp-forged blade as it passed within inches of his head. He came up firing, bolts slamming into the daemon's side. One round punched through the joint of its shoulder, sending a spray of black ichor across the ground. The Herald snarled, its eyes narrowing.
Then it came again.
Cassian met it head-on.
His chainsword roared to life, teeth screaming as they met the daemon's blade. Sparks cascaded into the air as they locked weapons, Cassian's arms shaking with the effort. The Herald loomed over him, its fetid breath hot against his faceplate. Cassian snarled and pushed back, driving his knee into the creature's gut. It barely budged.
Not enough.
He reached out with his mind. The warp burned at his thoughts, the touch of the Immaterium colder than ice. He shoved it aside, focusing. He didn't need to dominate it — only guide it. His power flared, tendrils of thought snaking into the cracks of the creature's will. The Herald stiffened, its body shuddering as Cassian's mind pressed against its own.
Slow.
The creature staggered. Its movements dulled, just for a moment — but a moment was all Cassian needed. He wrenched his chainsword free and drove it into the creature's side, feeling the teeth bite deep into muscle and bone. The daemon roared, swinging wildly. The blade caught Cassian's pauldron, shearing through ceramite and biting into flesh. He screamed, pain lancing through his body as blood poured down his side.
Keep moving.
He ducked under the next swing, boltgun rising. He fired point-blank into the creature's face, the explosive shells detonating against its skull. The Herald reeled, ichor spraying across the ground. Cassian drove forward, slamming his shoulder into the creature's chest and knocking it back.
It fell to one knee, breathing hard. Cassian stood over it, chainsword raised. The daemon looked up, blood streaming from its shattered face. For the first time, Cassian saw something flicker in its eyes.
Fear.
He drove the chainsword down.
The teeth bit deep, rending flesh and bone. The Herald screamed, its voice a wail of rage and agony. Cassian pressed harder, pushing the blade deeper. The creature thrashed, clawing at him, but he held firm. Blood sprayed across his visor, blinding him, but he didn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
The machine spirit surged through him, his armor whispering victory in his ears. His mind pressed harder, crushing the last vestiges of the daemon's will. The creature shuddered once — then fell still.
Cassian stood there, breathing hard. The battlefield was silent around him, the fires burning low. He looked down at the Herald's corpse, its lifeblood pooling at his feet. The chainsword whirred softly in his hand, its teeth slick with gore.
He stepped back, breathing ragged. The machine spirit purred softly, content. Cassian closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his victory settle over him.
It was done.
—-
The Herald's corpse slumped to the ground with a wet thud, black ichor pooling beneath its ruined body. Cassian stood over it, chainsword humming softly in his grip, breath ragged as he stared down at his kill. His armor's machine spirit thrummed with quiet pride, the sensation faint but unmistakable. Yet there was no time to savor the victory. The battlefield still burned.
Chaos was winning.
He turned. Through the smoke and ruin, he saw them — his comrades, the last line of the Imperium's desperate defense. Sisters of Battle, their ceramite armor slick with blood, fired bolt rounds into the tide of heretics, their chants rising above the din of war. Arbites and Guardsmen held the line where they could, their lasfire cutting red streaks through the dark. Mechanicus Skitarii advanced in perfect sync, their augmetic limbs glimmering in the firelight. But for every heretic that fell, two more climbed over the corpse. For every daemon banished, another tore its way into reality.
Cassian moved.
The Godwyn-pattern boltgun snapped to his shoulder, the machine spirit guiding his aim. He squeezed the trigger, and the boltgun roared. A cultist's head exploded in a spray of bone and gore. He shifted targets, cutting down a charging mutant, its bloated flesh bursting under the impact of the blessed rounds. The machine spirit whispered in his ear, feeding him ammo counts and target vectors.
Five rounds left. Reload.
Cassian dropped behind cover, his movements smooth. The boltgun's magazine slid free with a practiced motion, another slamming home in less than a second. He pushed forward, vaulting over debris and into the fray.
A Sister of Battle fought ahead of him, her power sword blazing with holy light as she carved through the enemy. A Bloodletter surged toward her — a crimson blur of muscle and hate. Cassian fired. The bolt punched through its skull, sending it sprawling before it could reach her. She turned, offering a nod of thanks before charging back into the melee.
Keep moving.
Cassian's chainsword roared to life, its teeth screaming as he tore through the first cultist in his path. Blood sprayed across his visor, but he ignored it. His mind reached out, tendrils of thought brushing against the battlefield. He could feel them — the heretics, the mutants, the daemons. Their rage burned like a beacon. He pushed against it, sending out whispers of doubt and hesitation. A group of cultists stumbled, their charge faltering for a split second. It was all he needed.
He moved like a blade in the dark.
His boltgun barked, each round finding its mark. His chainsword carved through flesh and bone, the machine spirit singing in his mind. A mutant lunged at him — a twisted abomination of muscle and fangs. He sidestepped, the blade of his chainsword biting deep into its neck. The creature gurgled and fell, black blood pooling at his feet.
Around him, the battle raged.
A Skitarii collapsed under a Bloodletter's blade, its mechanical limbs twitching even in death. An Arbite was torn apart by a swarm of cultists, their blades rising and falling in a frenzy of blood and screams. The Sisters fought on, their battle hymns filling the air even as they fell one by one.
Cassian fought harder.
He fired into the mob, bolt rounds tearing through heretics. He pushed forward, his armor's servos whirring with each step. A lesser daemon lunged at him, claws raking across his pauldron. Pain lanced through his side, but he ignored it. He drove his chainsword into the creature's gut, ripping upward in a spray of ichor and viscera.
A scream echoed through the vox — one of the Sisters. Cassian turned just in time to see her fall, her armor split open by a Bloodletter's blade. Rage burned through him. He raised his boltgun, emptying the magazine into the daemon's chest. It staggered back, snarling, before collapsing into the dirt.
But they kept coming.
Cassian's breaths came ragged now, each movement slower than the last. His armor felt heavier. His muscles burned. The machine spirit whispered warnings — ammo low, vitals unstable. He pushed forward anyway.
Another mutant charged him, its jagged blade swinging for his head. Cassian ducked, the blade scraping across his helm. He came up swinging, his chainsword biting deep into the creature's side. It screamed, falling to its knees. He drove his boltgun into its mouth and pulled the trigger. The creature's head vanished in a spray of gore.
Still, they came.
Cassian reached out with his mind, searching for something — anything. The warp responded, cold and unforgiving. He pushed deeper, his will slamming against the tide of rage and blood. The cultists faltered, their minds clouding under the pressure. The lesser daemons hissed, their movements sluggish. It was only for a moment, but it was enough.
He surged forward.
His boltgun fired, the last rounds punching through heretics and mutants alike. His chainsword screamed, teeth tearing through flesh and bone. He moved like a whirlwind, each step guided by the machine spirit. His mind burned with power, the warp swirling around him.
But it wasn't enough.
A Bloodletter charged, its hellblade cleaving through the air. Cassian raised his chainsword, blocking the blow. Sparks showered around him as the blades clashed. The daemon snarled, pressing harder. Cassian pushed back, driving his knee into its gut. It stumbled, and he drove his chainsword into its chest, ripping upward with a roar.
Still, they came.
The battlefield was a graveyard now. The Sisters were dead. The Arbites were gone. Only a handful of Guardsmen and Skitarii remained, their fire growing weaker by the second. Cassian stood alone, surrounded by bodies and blood. His armor was cracked. His boltgun empty. His chainsword dulled.
And still, they came.
Cassian stood his ground. He raised his chainsword, blood dripping from its teeth. The machine spirit whispered one last time, soft and quiet.
Fight.
And Cassian fought.
----
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