(I was recently inspired to write a little more of a small short I did over a year ago. It makes me so very happy to know that people enjoy my writing and I hope to recapture the magic of the first piece. Critiques and comments always appreciated. My turn to ping you /u/VorpalAuroch. I hope it meets your standards.)

The world burned.

Once, the Sanctum world was a place of quiet and contemplation. Missionaries and pilgrims came to share in the Imperial Faith. Music was the sound on the wind, music backed by prayer. The air once smelled of incense, of purity.

No longer.

Screams replaced the music. Wails replaces the prayers. The smell of smoke and petroleum and purification overrode the delicate incense. The Sanctum world became a charnel one ever since the Sky was torn in half.

The Cicatrix Maledictum rent space in twain, letting the Warp into the material realm. Where it once was secluded into two somewhat containable places, it spilled into reality without restraint. The harsh purple glow of the warp space was an ugly scar that shined proudly to the naked eye. It allowed the chaff of the Warp to assault the worlds, disgorging the lost and the damned, the heretic, the Foes of humanity.

However that was not the worst of it. The immense Maledictum has split the Imperium in half. The ones caught on the other side of the scar found themselves cut off from the light of the Astronomicon. This Imperium Nihilus were alone, removed from the Light of Terra. They were prey to be taken, denied reinforcement.

The broken citizens congregated where they could. Fractured regiments of the Astra Millitarum tried to fortify defensible positions. Marines fought where they could. Convents gathered to protect their flocks. They fought, and died together.

The world burned beneath the tread of traitors and heretics alike. Foul warbands of Chaos Marines fell upon the world to despoil it, to ruin it, to slaughter the people and cast down the symbols of the Emperor. Gleefully they vox casted that the world had been abandoned. That they forgotten by the Imperium. That their Emperor had truly died and left them.

Her defenders tried to ignore the messages. Filth and lies they said as they fought. Most fought bravely. Some betrayed their oaths to stand with the invaders, desperate for anything that took away their despair.

All died painfully.

Canoness Ebrea fired her Bolter again and again. Each sanctified bolt round killed a traitor soldier or mutant cultist. She stood her ground, her once proud plate daubed in ash and blood, firing again and again. Her voice was hoarse from smoke and song, and she denied the foe with heart and soul.

Two giant forms rushed towards her. Their armor was colored the red of dried blood, insane letters written across them like scars. Heretek Astartes, the ancient traitors.

She fired on full auto, her armor shuddering from the force of the Bolter. She screamed in defiance as she fired, the muzzle flare lighting up her sharp features.

One of the marines shuddered from the impacts, his momentum slowed. The last round found his neck seal and it penetrated then exploded, his helmet flew one way and the remains of his skull flew another. Impossibly the body staggered forward a few more steps before it fell to the shattered earth.

His comrade used his demise, and kept charging at the Sister of Battle. With an amplified roar he struck her with a heavy spiked maul, knocking her into the air.

Ebrea fell heavily, a grunt of pain escaped her lips as she felt her armor creak and shudder. She willed her shaking arms to move, raising the Bolter slowly.

The chaos marine laughed, flicking the gun aside with his weapon with casual disdain. “I like you,” he rasped. “I see your zeal and determination. Join me. Join the True Faith. Show your devotion to true power.”

She spat and her blood flecked saliva dripped down his armor. “I serve a True Faith you traitorous dog. The God Emperor will welcome me to His side as a faithful servant.”

The spiked maul raised high. “Then allow me to send you to the Corpse Emperor!”

Ebrea wanted to close her eyes but she kept them open. She knew her end had come and she would face it like any trial she ever did. Her lips began to move in prayer.

The sound of ceramite on stone reached her ears. The footfalls made the ground beneath her tremble. It grew louder and louder. Another giant form came in and this time the chaos marine flew.

She gasped as she saw her savior. He was a space marine but taller and larger than ones she had seen in the past. His armor was plain grey, a lit torch emblazoned on his pauldron. He carried a giant storm shield, one that would be as tall as her, and he had rammed the chaos marine at a charge.

The chaos marine struggled to his feet. “You! How dare you sport those colors and that symbol! I will-“ His head disappeared in a beam of crimson bright light. His words and subsequent scream were drowned out by the shriek of the gun and when the beam faded, the chaos marine’s head faded as well leaving behind a smoking stump of a neck.

“You will do nothing,” the grey armored marine replied. He holstered his Neo-volkite pistol and offered a hand to Ebrea. “Canoness, can you rise?”

She did, grunting from broken ribs. Though their hands were encased in ceramite and plasteel, she imagined she could feel his warmth, his sincerity. “Thank you,” she gasped. “I do not recognize your colors marine. I was unaware of Adeptus Astartes on the planet.”

“We have only recently arrived. We pierced the Maledictum and saw this world under siege. My Chapter Master decreed that this world will be our first engagement.”

Her heart beat was fierce. Tears welled in her eyes. “You came, from the other side? You came to rescue us? We are not alone?”

“You were never alone.”

She turned to this new voice, impossibly deep and mechanically resonant. The marine knelt and she fell to her knees as she looked up at the contemptor dreadnought.

It was massive, she had seen shrines and altars smaller than it. He was painted in plain grey as well, the lit torch on his breast. Words were written on his chassis but where she felt pain and sickness at the earlier writings on the chaos marine armor, these filled her with warmth and light.

“Rise beloved sister,” the dreadnought said and reached out with an arm. She took it, pulling herself up. This time she truly felt a comforting presence when she touched him. “You have fought well, I thank you.”

She gasped as she saw the squads of marines that lined up around them. More than she ever thought possible were arrayed in formations. Some revved chainswords, others hefted larger versions of her blessed Bolter. Some wore heavier armor and brandished heavier weaponry. Vehicles came up, floating over the ground.

“Who...who are you?”

“I am the Anchorite, Chapter Master of the Imperial Heralds reborn. I was sent by the Imperial Regent to bring aid to the Imperium Nihilus. I was sent to illuminate the dark.”

Ebrea wept openly now and no marine turned away. “We are saved! Oh thank the Emperor. I never lost faith.”

“No you did not. Your faith drew us here. Your purity was our lighthouse in the turbulent night. You saved us in our pilgrimage. Now we will save you.” The Anchorite raised his other arm and every marine raised theirs. “Brothers! Raise your voices and sing! Let the enemy know we come! Let the lost know we are here!”

Ebrea reloaded her Bolter. “A song of salvation!”

The Anchorite primed his weapon. “A song of vengeance.”