First Conflict, prisoners to war.

Leonardus surveyed the field before him, greenish hued lenses scanned the decrepit buildings and ruined alleyways of the hive. The 5 other marines waited patiently behind him, examining different paths to take and fields of fire. Finally the vox clicked, the sergeant’s tone measured. “Rafael, you went forth 200 meters before returning?”

The scout marine nodded, holding his heavy bolter in a sure grip. “Yes brother-sergeant. While I did not find any other tracks, the debris was more disturbed here than in previous areas. The general neglect matches the timeline of evacuation, some 50 years local standard time. There are distinct paths however,” he pointed and his finger traced a line among the buildings and ruins, “that show more recent disturbances.”

Leonardus nodded. “Thank you for your assessment. We move forward in standard exploration pattern. Brothers on overwatch will protect those moving, and we trade off as we enter defensible areas. Rafael, Donatelus, climb to the second floor of this hab block. You will be on overwatch until we reach that structure I am marking as Beta on our auspex. When you are secured, we move out.”

The scout swung his heavy bolter onto his back, already clambering up the pillars to the floor above. Donatelus waited and for a moment Leonardus thought his pause was due to laxity in following orders. Perhaps not as once the scout marine was halfway up the wall the tactical marine maglocked his plasma gun and followed after. He climbed slowly, his power armor more bulky than the scout’s carapace armor. The sergeant cursed silently, still plagued by his doubts as the others kept watch.

Finally the two marines reached the second landing, weapons held in sure grips and eyes watchful from the higher vantage point. The vox clicked again, “All clear,” whispered Rafael, “standing ready and assuming overwatch positions.”

“Acknowledged, moving out.” Leonardus took one step past a curved entryway with the others following before a faint flicker of lights in the distance alerted him. Moments after the flashes and the sound of a bolter shell cracked, ricocheting off the wall above them with a violent growl. “Cover!” the seargeant shouted over the vox and the marines hunkered down behind the walls and pillars. “Report!”

“Sounds like heavy bolter fire!” replied Donatelus as he peeked over the rim of the wall he knelt behind. “Unsure of pattern, are there other Astartes operating in the hive? Wait.” He peered through the gloom, looking for silhouettes that came with the flashes of light. To one side of the firing figure he could see other armored forms coming closer garbed in dark green plate yet no recognizable livery. The one carrying the heavy bolter took a step closer, standing beneath a uttering lumen which showed the octeds carved into his armor. “Traitors! Visual signs acknowledged!”

The Primaris sergeant snarled and he could tell his brothers shared his anger, his distaste. “Return fire, maintain long distance engagement until they get closer.” Soon the heavy booms of their own heavy bolter filled the air and the sharp whine of the plasma gun charging up before the heavy release of its vicious payload joined the chorus. Leonardus noticed Michaelus looking at him leveling before aiming his own heavy bolter and joining the fray. Another silent curse spilled from the sergeant’s lips before he aimed his bolt rifle at approaching targets.

---

Rindar clapped Ashcal on the shoulder. “You almost got the red painted corpse follower. Good shooting. Keep their heads down. Talan, Arax, and the Rabble will go down the middle. I will flank and we will bring them down. Then their armor and weapons will be ours and who knows, a prisoner would make for fine sport and information.”

Quanos bowed his cowled head to the Chaos champion. Rising he brandished his sword and pistol, exhorting the cultists and they rushed forward en masse. Not completely devoid of senses, the humans ran from cover to cover howling curses at the Blood Angels. Thankfully none shot their weapons impotently or wastefully, a habit the Chaos marines had literally broken them of.

Rindar slid his way down a scree of rubble, keeping the Blood Angels and his Grim Legion to his left. He watched as shots went back and forth between the two groups, the hive providing ample ruins and cover to both sides. He grinned beneath his helm, clenching his immense power fist and letting the claws scrape together. Cover would not matter as soon as he got close enough. However a piercing scream rent the air, a horrid nose that ended wetly. He recognized it as one of the Rabble, and was disturbed to hear an odd shuffling, a wet tearing noise that got closer. “What was that?”

The vox snapped in reply, “One of the Gods watches,” whispered Ashcal with reverence. “His servants come.”

---

Tarex smiled beneath his filthy helm. The pox walkers had swarmed one of the raggedly dressed cultists, dragging him down and tore at him with diseased weapons. Now the bleeding figure rose jerkily, a similar rictus of mirth appeared on his face and it turned to continue walking with the other Unchanged. Another horrid screech rent the air as another cultist was struck by a wave of pestilence. Jalice had aimed his nozzle at the human, a wet chuckle spilling from his lips as the cultist tried to dive behind a wall of rubble. The foul fluid sprayed over the entire mound as well as the one hiding behind it, covering him with the virulent fluid. The cultist rolled and thrashed, his screams turning into gurgles of pain.

“Forward Death Guard,” Tarex voxed and his marines pressed forward. “Deluded loyalists and befuddled renegades fight before us. Let us educate them on the true power of the Galaxy.”

A plague marine tottered for a moment at the edge of the gantry beside Tarex. A wet cough and a cloud of greenish smoke erupted from his blight launcher and a large caliber shell whistled menacingly as it flew to a distant target. An explosion knocked rock and wall over, the once silent air throbbed from the war of sounds. Tarex smiled again as he aimed with his plasma gun, shooting at an armored figure in the distance with gaudily carved marks in his armor.

---

Lorenzo almost recoiled from disgust as he saw the plague marines tread closer to his position. He had not fought the more debased of the Heretic Astartes yet. Most of his battle experience has been against the remnants of the Tyranid hive fleets and a few renegade Imperial Guard regiments. This was the first time he saw the traitors of the Great Crusade, once loyal marines that broke their oaths of honor to throw in with the fell powers of the Warp. Not only that, his indoctrination made him recognize these particular traitors, the Death Guard. They were once brothers, a Legion that fought with the Blood Angels in a forgotten age. The Primaris marine hated them. He aimed carefully and pulled the trigger, the bolts striking true. The marine stumbled backwards but remained standing, the rents in his armor already knitting themselves shut.

He snarled and fired again and again, a line of rounds finally striking the plague marine full in the faceplate. The enemy fell and Lorenzo felt a moment of triumph. To his dismay the plague marine rolled onto his front, climbing back onto his feet with slow relentless movement. Before he could fire again motion caught his eye and he turned, firing as he did.

The bolts struck true but the charging plague marine did not seem to notice. He continued the charge, swinging a staff topped with lengths of chains that ended in blunt metallic orbs. Some were carved in the form of skulls and a faint scream was heard as they flew through the air. Leandro managed to duck on swing, using his bolt rifle as a shield to block another blow. An errant flail head swung past and collided with his helmet, driving him to his knees. Hands scrambled for a blade but a kick knocked him to his back and he looked up to see the plague marine standing over him. The Primaris marine realized throughout the melee that his foe had made no sound, and that was the last thought before the falling flail drove sense and consciousness from him.

---

Rindar snarled from exertion and frustration. He was hemmed in by three of the Blood Angels, his back to the wall. His fist had come close to ending one marine’s life but the others had jumped in, spoiling his aim. He felt the power sword used by the sergeant pierce his side and he fell to his knees, spitting invectives and blood. As far as he could tell only Ashcal remained, the others in his force having broken, fled, or incapacitated. The appearance of the Death Guard had ruined his ambush and he cursed with shallow breath. Before the blade of the sergeant fell however he spied a lumbering hulk behind them closing the distance.

A burst of energy allowed him to knock over a tactical marine, allowing his back to be bare for a moment. The blade never fell however and instead the sound of swinging chain colliding with ceramite gave him reason to smile. With the Angels distracted he punched a hole into the wall and stumbled through, laughing from yet another change in fickle fortune.

---

“Fall back now!” barked Michaelus as he shot the flail wielding plague marine with his heavy bolter at point blank range. The heavy weapon fire finally drove the Death Guard legionnaire back and gave the Angels some room. The scout and the tactical marine leapt down from the second floor, looking at the fallen Primaris marines. “Drag them out, we took out the leader of the renegades but the damned diseased ones are coming. We need to pull out now.”

Rafael took over overwatch, shooting bursts of heavy bolter fire while the tactical dragged their comrades through the debris. They slid them down the incline behind them, letting gravity and physics to lighten their burden before stealing away into the gloom.

---

Hadron glared at the retreating Blood Angels. He swung his flail moodily, knocking over a pillar in his distaste causing more showers of rock and rubble. He was so close, having knocked over the two Primaris marines with his weapon but was not quite able to finish the deed. Tarex’s voice called him back over the vox and the plague marine shook his flail at the small red figures in the distance. Next time, they would not be so fortunate.