The Equus Crusade

The chapel of the Hengroen was the holiest and largest chamber in the entire ship. Small silver shrines, arrayed orderly near the two long walls, displayed relics of ancient heroes on top of rectangular pedestals surrounded by thick glass. Two rows of alabaster columns, shielded by giant statues of marines on all four of their sides, lead to a monumental golden altar, long and rectangular. An army of candles of white wax produced all the light one might need, and the stained glass on its right side gave a yellow hue to the rays coming from the void. Two marines stood guard near the altar, their bolters close to their chests.

Lines and lines of stone pews filled the area between the two rows of columns. The chapter serfs used them when they gathered for their morning and evening prayer. The chapel was one of few areas marines and serfs frequently shared. A few of the humans were scattered around the place, using their free time to pray.

The chapel had two secondary wings, giving it the shape of a cross if looked at from above. Each of the wings was Identical to the main corridor, but both ended with gargantuan stony statues of hooded angels wielding a long scythe with both hands. Each angel had the head and hands of a skeleton with empty eye sockets. Both statues stood atop rectangular white pedestal several meters high that bore the names of many martyrs of the chapter.

The stone was ancient; the best attempts at maintenance had only delayed the inexorable advance of the ages as cracks appeared on the hands and wings.

Tiberius was kneeling as he prayed in front of one statue. He was wearing his armor, as he had to be ready for the incoming battle, and had his bolter at his side. He knew that one day his brothers would carve his name into the stone holding the grim statue above.

Looking right at the pedestal, he saw rows of enormous banners commemorating the greatest battles fought by the chapter. Many of them always brought back a mixture of good and bad memories in Tiberius, because he had fought in several of them. The one with the word ‘Mortiva’ written in its lowest section was the one who caught his eyes the most.

It portrayed five knights forming a circle atop a black hill as a tide of blue daemons, led by one with a golden staff and the head of a bird, charged at them from every direction. There were no real symbols of the ruinous powers, but recognizing the servants of the Changer of Ways did not require any effort from those who had seen them.

Mortiva had been the place where he fought his first battle as a sergeant, and where he lost his first squad.

The heavy steps of power armor distracted him from his observation of the flag and his memories as he realized someone was approaching him. The marine stopped every few steps as he paid his respects to many of the statues near the columns, which represented many of the brothers he had once known personally before they fell in battle.

“Your presence brings merriment to my soul, Aphaniel,” he rose and turned to great the veteran. “But do tell me, do you come to me with news? Are we mayhap ready for war? Or is this encounter the result of mere fortune?”

“The star of fortune did not lead me to this meeting,” Aphaniel swiftly kneeled in front of his liege, his eyes looking down to the floor. “I apologize for interrupting your prayer, but I have come here of my own will to inform you that the squad is ready for deployment just like you ordered before heading here.”

“I commend you for your swiftness, brother,” Tiberius said. “But I cannot head into the fires of war before I consecrate my bolter, as that is what the law demands. Will you join me in the ceremony? I assure you the affair will be swifter than the wind.”

Tiberius was no chaplain, but he had received the privilege of leading small ceremonies as a reward for being the only one of the first company to make it out alive and uncorrupted from Mortiva, a privilege he relished.

“Words fail to express how much that would honor me,” Aphaniel looked at Tiberius. “I accept your offer.”

Once Aphaniel rose, they both headed to the golden altar. He saw that the equine head of an alien captain, a trophy captured by squad Telemachus, was on the right end of the altar with her eyes closed and her facial muscles relaxed. Telemachus himself had carried it on a silver ceremonial shield.

Captain Galahad opted to give squad Telemachus the chance to gain some honor of its own and sent them to board the alien vessel and kill the enemy captain. The decision did not please Tiberius, who had spent half an hour discussing the matter with Galahad before being forced to give up.

The two marines guarding the altar stomped their right foot once, then stepped in opposite directions and let him begin the ceremony.

He had repeated the movements and the words of the ceremony a thousand times, and he knew what exactly what to.

He placed his bolter at the center of the altar. His first move was to raise a bronze scepter with a bulbous head lying next to it and handed it over to Aphaniel. Then, he walked to the opposite side of the altar so he may look over the entire sanctuary, and he lit up a small incense burner to pass it over the bolter.

“Almighty Emperor, Master of Mankind, from the tides of the nameless beasts, you have protected us,” he began reciting the traditional formula for blessing a weapon, the fumes and the aromatic smell they carried already reaching his helmet. “From the hate of the alien, you have shielded us. From the foulness of the arch-enemy, you still shelter us.”

Aphaniel touched the bolter with the scepter three times in three different points, the extremities and the center, doing his part in the quick ceremony.

“Yet we still call on your help once more, for we are the most worthy of it” Tiberius continued. “We are the defenders of your Imperium, we are your proud sons, we are the tip of your spear. Just like we have been blessed by your blood, we ask you to give your blessing to this weapon with your spirit so it may become a better tool in your service.”

“In your service!” Aphaniel said as he brought the scepter to his chest before putting it back on the altar, right next to the alien head. The two marines, who had observed the ceremony in silence until that moment, stomped their foot once more and returned to their positions near to the altar, facing the distant exit.

Just like that, Star Lords’ law considered the gun blessed.

Tiberius put down the incense burner and picked up his bolter. It did not feel any different from before. The consecration of a weapon was almost always a pious formality, but it was not something he could ignore. He was a sergeant, a highly decorated one, with more than a century of service in the first company. It would have been unbecoming of him to eschew tradition in the name of practicality.

Aphaniel put the scepter back on the altar and walked to his liege’s side.

“Now that I finish this task, I say it is time for us to leave this sacred place, for fate has deprived us of alien blood for far too long,” Tiberius pronounced the last words of the ceremony.

They both slowly walked out of the chapel and into the crowded corridors of the Hengroen.

The corridors were not as bright as the sanctuary and bore almost no decorations on them except for the occasional ruby-eyed statue. The narrow windows on the right side allowed the rays of the local sun to enter the ship, making the armors of the Astartes glisten.

Taking a glance outside the windows, Tiberius could see the alien world he would soon set foot on. Its surface was verdant, with healthy blue seas and only a few cities visible from space already being bombed. A few white clouds painted its skies. It reminded him of his own world.

The two knights towered over all the chapter serfs as they walked with confidence to their destination and paid no mind to the surrounding humans. Tiberius’ thoughts were focused on Aphaniel. He felt his brother was there for something more than a mere report. He was usually more talkative before a fight, sharing details about the briefings and discussing a plan for their part in the battle. In addition to that, Cassius was the one who usually reported to him.

“If there are thoughts on your mind, haunting your spirit, you are free to speak of them now,” he said. “You need not fear my judgment.”

“I think of the training session, yesterday, my mind goes back to when you sparred with Cadriel,” he stopped and turned to face him. “There was no need to wound his pride.”

“I had all the reasons to hurt his pride,” Tiberius did not hesitate to reply, he knew the reasons for his actions and was not afraid to defend them. “I have already seen the path of a gloryhound leads, I will not let that happen again if I can do something about it.”

“He is no Mordred, darkness is not in his path” Knowing who Tiberius was alluding to, Aphaniel raised his voice. That action earned a few worried looks from the surrounding serfs. “I suggest you do not worry about what thoughts are haunting my mind because I see that the memory of your failure at Mortiva is still preying on yours.”

Hearing that name, the one he hated above all else, made Tiberius’ blood boil. He stepped closer to Aphaniel and also raised his voice.

“Do not mention that vermin’s name so close to the chapel, lest you sully such a grand hall” More serfs were now glancing at them, even if none of them dared to stop their work. “And Mortiva was not a failure, we won.”

“I offer my most heartfelt of apologies for speaking rashly, but Cadriel needs the trust of his brothers if he is to focus on the oncoming war,” Aphaniel turned and looked at the alien world, Tiberius walked to his right side. “Am I mistaken? Is a Space Marine not entitled to the trust of his brothers? Dark thoughts have gained ground on your mind, Tiberius. Blood of Dorne, listen to your own words and tell me if they have not come from accusation and distrust, This is not our way, brother.”

“Mayhaps there is truth in your words,” Tiberius conceded. “But I know a dark path is tempting Cadriel, a simple path to glory and fortune, and my sacred duty is to stop him.”

“Then I hope the wisdom that led you to your rank will tell what to do in such an hour of need,” Aphaniel said, sounding disappointed by his superior. That sentence terminated the conversation as Aphaniel walked away from the window.

The two knights traveled through the rest of the ship all the way to the drop pod room in silence as they both understood that there was nothing else to say in the matter.

They walked through many more corridors in a religious silence, as they were both deeply lost in thought about what they had just said to each other. The winged statues of mythical figures they found at their right side expressed wordless judgment with their inscrutable stone faces and eyes of ruby.

The statues became more and more frequent until they became a regular appearance once they reached their destination, an iron door protected by two high-ranking chapter serfs. They were armed with short swords and kite shields and wore chainmail under a full plate armor decorated by lines of gold near their belts and eyes.

The two serfs opened the door and let the Astartes through, not intending to question the motives of their superiors. They were there to stop other humans, not Space Marines.

The smell of oil and rust invaded Tiberius’ nostrils the moment he walked through the door, crashing into a servitor and making it fall to the ground as he approached his brothers. The room was mostly dark, with only exceptions being the yellow rays produced by the rare electrical lights on the ceiling. Several servitors mindlessly and tirelessly worked on the drop pods scattered around the room.

The rest of the squad was waiting for them near an already prepared drop pod. Icarus and Cadriel already inside looking eager to bring war to the alien, while Cassius was checking and re-checking his systems.

“I have come, I apologize for not being here sooner,” Tiberius said to them all. “Prayer and ceremony took more of time than I expected.”

“Understandable,” Cassius said laconically. “The drop pod is ready, sergeant.”

“Excellent news,” Tiberius stepped into his position in the drop pod, looking forward to the proper start of the crusade. “Then it is my belief that the time has come for one last prayer.”

The drop pod, its interiors caressed by a soft penumbra, was silent as it fell from the sky. The hour of the first great assault had come, and squad Tiberius was ready for it. They would deploy slightly to the north of enemy lines, with simple search and destroy orders, and sow confusion while the primary force advanced from the south. Everyone expected an easy victory; in that case, hunting freely was well within their rights.

All five knights were silent, every important detail had been shared, every prayer had been offered, the only thing left for them was to wait for the pod to reach the ground.

Tiberius had been told that the local anti-air batteries, the few that existed, had been destroyed from orbit long before the Guard even landed just outside of the largest city on the planet, so nothing could stop the deployment.

“This is Brother-Captain Galahad, addressing all knights of the first company,” The voice of the first captain echoed in the helmets of the knights of squad Tiberius. “Today is a glorious day for the Imperium, today we bring war to an alien world and claim it for humanity and the Emperor, let honor guide through the battle as you shed this new blood, let faith be your weapon, for the Emperor and the Tower!”

“For the Tower!” they all said in unison, not needing much encouragement to shout their Chapter’s battle-cry.

Tiberius then heard a loud boom coming from the sky outside, then several more. The next sound was that a full barrage covering the skies and multiple pods bursting into flames as the projectiles hit them.

“This is squad Tiberius, addressing Captain Galahad,” he said to the vox. “The xenos are still in possession of anti-air guns, this vector of approach is no longer safe, over.” He hoped his words would save his brothers still on the Hengroen.

“Acknowledged, the rest of the company will find another way, saints and Emperor be with you, over and out,” Galahad replied.

One of the many explosions outside then struck the upper section of the pod, but the hit was a superficial one and did not break the steel. The only result of the hit was robbing the pod of its center of gravity and making it spin like a maddened compass.

“The machine spirit is confused,” Cassius said with his usual laconic tone, no sign of worry in his voice. “It cannot provide us a safe landing.”

The constant shifting of gravity would have been too much for a normal man to handle, but Tiberius felt no need to vomit or to pass out. His senses were as sharp as ever, and his only concern was about how much the hit had altered the landing course.

“Squad Tiberius, do you hear my voice?” Galahad’s voice reached all five of them through the vox. “I can see your course has been altered. Do you still live? Over.”

“We can hear you, captain, and we have suffered no injuries,” Tiberius reported. “A superficial hit almost robbed us of our lives, but they remain out of the icy grasp of death. Cassius reports that our landing will not be a standard one, over.”

“I am glad to know you still live,” Galahad quickly said. “It would be a shame if you fell before you could shed alien blood once more, over and out.”

The pod reached the ground only a few seconds later. Tiberius finally heard the familiar sound of crushed concrete as the steel punched through it like a bullet through thin armor. After a few more seconds of crashing through the concrete, the drop pod stopped.

Tiberius and others were upside down and had to punch and kick their way out.

The steel yielded and bent in the face of the superhuman strength of an astartes, and light entered the pod as the walls were violently opened and broken. If one of the flying horses looked at the pod, they could have compared it to a flower with long iron petals.

In unison, the knights leaped out of the pod and stepped over the grey cobblestone of a small plaza with a humble white fountain at its center. Many of the surrounding buildings were in ruins, their roofs and floors torn apart by artillery shells, and their stones and bricks covered the ground like broken marbles thrown away without a care.

Several more drop pods descended from above crowded the already blackened skies. Tiberius could also see the long barrels of several almost well-hidden guns on a hill dominating the skyline of the city, all of them were pointed at the pods.

Tiberius could not waste more time to admire the destruction the Imperium had already had delivered on the Xeno, because a sniper’s bullet lodging itself in his chest announced the beginning of a fight.

Small arms fire, quick and precise, began pouring out of the shattered windows of a distant house. The soldiers, all of distinct races and sizes, were taking cover behind the rubble created by the artillery and Tiberius could have sworn some of them were changing the color of their skin the better blend in with the environment.

The attack was not a surprise. His approach had not been a subtle one, and he expected to find enemies near the landing zone. It was all part of his plan.

“This is squad Tiberius to Galahad, we have landed and we have already joined battle with the enemy,” He kept his report short, as he wanted to focus on the fight. “I see the equivalent of a standard guard company at half strength. They are at close range, less than five hundred meters, over.”

“Hearing that pleases me,” Galahad replied immediately. “Your orders have not changed, the guard is already taking care of the guns, hunt well, over and out.”

With the report over, and his captain satisfied, Tiberius closed the vox channel just as the volume of fire intensified.

“Return their greeting, brothers!” Tiberius said once he was finally free to turn all of his attention to the battle.

He hit several targets right in the head, and broke their bodies as their shattered bones turned into bloody shrapnels, but many more survived by moving to cover at the last second. The sight made him smile. He was no longer fighting clueless pirates.

Cassius was the only one who did not open fire on the aliens because one of his hands was holding up the squad’s banner, and the other had a chainsword. As always, the enemy fire focused on him, which was the purpose of the flag. For the moment, they were doing everything Tiberius expected them to do.

“I suggest we close on their position and kill them in close-quarter combat,” Cadriel proposed as he took cover behind the fountain because of how annoying the enemy fire had become. “It will be an easy fight”.

“I agree,” said Icarus. “These are soldiers, not warriors. They are ill-equipped to withstand our charge.”

Tiberius did not want to feed Cadriel’s all-consuming hunger for glory, but he had to admit he was making the right decision. Icarus’ agreement made his next move easier.

“It is decided then!” Tiberius threw a smoke grenade to obscure his advance, his chainsword roaring. “We shall take their position with our blades, follow me!”

He dashed into the smoke, firing his bolter, and his brothers were behind him as he emerged from it like a summoned daemon coming out of the darkness.

Once he was closer, he could better see his opponents and their equipment. A white griffon and a unicorn of the same color were operating a machine gun as a burly, and increasingly distressed, yak directed their fire even if he could see it was ineffective. He was shouting in a language Tiberius could not understand.

All around the two of them, aliens of all shapes and sizes fired at them with long black rifles, and a minotaur, who Tiberius assumed was their commander because of his white uniform, stood proudly among them as he shouted commands at them and tried to maintain discipline. He had long white horns, black fur, and blue eyes.

Even if his enemies were not human, Tiberius could tell when his presence had instilled terror in his foes. The widening pupils, the worsening aim, and an increased voice pitch were all things he expected from his non-transhuman foes.

The moment squad Tiberius reached the door, the minotaur left his position and the bullets stopped coming. If he was preparing to meet them at close range, Tiberius respected that, but he assumed he was looking at a tactical withdrawal.

The room waiting behind the door was large enough for the five of them to stand apart and move their arms around if they wished. Red wood, cracked in many places, provided a humble floor and the locals had painted the walls a soft yellow. The electricity no longer worked, but several holes in the roof allowed tilted columns of light to enter.

He did not have the time to further analyze the room, because a grenade provided a humble greeting. Tiberius swatted it away with his bolter while it was still flying, and it exploded far away from him and his brothers. He paid no mind to the noise.

The mare who had thrown the grenade, an apparently young pegasus with a green coat and purple eyes, became subjected to the cruel attentions of Icarus’ bolter with predictable consequences.

She had good enough reflexes to avoid the first burst, but the second one shattered her wings. She was an easy target after that, and the bullets soon cut her in half. Her organs and blood forming a pool between the parts of her body as her lungs struggled and she cried in pain.

“An impressive throw,” Icarus said, looking at the broken body of the mare before finishing her with one last shot to the head. “Considering the distance.”

“Keep your guard high!” Tiberius ordered, expecting the rest of the now obvious ambush to spring at any moment.

He was immediately proven right.

The defenders opened fire from different sides of the room and the broken ceiling, and the knights replied in a split second. Icarus provided covering fire as Aphaniel charged at his foes on the right side of the room while Tiberius and Cassius did the same on the other side. Cadriel exploited a large hole in the ceiling to jump his way to the floor above and began his carnage there.

They all reached their targets in a matter of seconds and began the butchery like hungry wolves attacking a flock of sheep. The aliens might have known how to fire their guns, but Cadriel had been correct in assuming that they would not know what to do once engaged in melee combat.

One alien stood like a proud exception from his peers, like a lonely mountain in a green plain. A tall black dragon, with razor-sharp golden claws and blue eyes, charged at Aphaniel with no fear and engaged him in a duel. His blue eyes shining like thunders in the night.

His bestial roar caught the veteran’s attention, who turned around with blade and bolter ready for action only to be engulfed by a tide of red flames. Aphaniel leaped out of the fire. His armor already bearing multiple black marks.

He replied to the flaming attack by charging right at his foe, and the dragon reacted with unexpected speed and stepped back before attacking with his right claw.

The strike connected with the flat side of Aphaniel’s chainsword and knocked it out of his hand. The knight did not attempt to recover the blade; he pointed his bolter at the enemy and fired a full burst, only for the dragon to move at the last possible moment and avoid every bullet.

The dragon’s eyes shined as he stepped forward and punched the space marine right in the chest. The powerful punch would have crushed the lungs of a lesser man, but Aphaniel only took two steps back and let the dragon realize he had shattered every bone of his own hand.

A howl of pain emerged from his contorted face, his confidence stolen by the pain he had inflicted on himself, but the howl was short-lived as Aphaniel took that moment to hit the dragon right in the throat with his armored gauntlet.

Aphaniel’s punch crushed the dragon’s windpipe, broke his neck, and sent the corpse flying through a nearby wall.

The sudden death of their best fighter broke the enemy’s morale, and they had understood the only thing they could do was retreating in large groups to the safest possible distance. Tiberius saw the minotaur officer blowing some sort of whistle as he ordered the retreat. He wondered where he had hidden while his soldiers died.

They had chased the aliens out of the house, but had stopped for one reason: Cadriel had stayed behind. Icarus confirmed he was still alive, because he had not lost his signal, so Tiberius assumed that something in the house was keeping him there.

“Cadriel, talk to me,” he said. “What is halting your advance? Over.”

“Nothing that should give you reason to worry,” Cadriel replied after a few seconds of silence. “I am just making sure none of these xenos run away, over.”

“Are you certain our assistance is not required? Over.”

“Worry not, sergeant,” Cadriel chuckled. “I shall soon prove I am safe and that these xenos are no threat to me, over and out.”

The moment communications were closed, several large cracks appeared in the upper floor’s wall of the house in which they had fought. The cracks then opened in an explosion of rubble and smoke to reveal Cadriel standing proudly and looking at his brothers as he held a frightened and bloody yak by the head.

Tiberius could not understand what the alien was saying, but his experience told him he was probably begging for his life. He did not have time to beg for long, as Cadriel’s next move was to decapitate him with a single strike of his chainsword.

“A mighty deed,” said Tiberius, sounding more annoyed than impressed. “Now join us, I command it.”

Cadriel jumped to the floor and landed punching the ground and cracking the road. He then walked to Tiberius and put a hand on his shoulder.

“As you can see, I am perfectly capable of standing alone,” he said proudly. "My liege."

“Not all that is possible is also advisable,” Tiberius replied as he removed the hand on his shoulder. “Remember this, brother.”

“The xenos are getting away!” With a shout, Icarus brought the attention back to the battle just as the last group of soldiers disappeared behind a street corner. Tiberius only had the time to see their tails before they vanished. “May we proceed now?”

“Yes, it is time to move.”

They rushed through the street with the speed of an eagle approaching its prey. The frontal section of the houses and shops appearing and disappearing before them in a matter of seconds, like a succession of moving cards.

In less than a minute, they had closed the distance and killed once more. Some of the braver aliens decided to stop and fire back at the knights, but none of them made anything more than few dents in their armors before their lives ended brutally.

Cadriel, as expected, was fighting ahead of his brothers, his enthusiasm about melee combat and the broken enemy inspiring him to leap forward. Tiberius and the others were more methodical, stopping every few seconds to ensure the enemy they caught was truly dead. A retreating enemy deserved no mercy and no quarter.

They never fought the second group of alien soldiers or many of the others, not because death found squad Tiberius before its time, but because it found the second group instead. The deathly touch of lasguns had horrifically burned and deformed the faces and limbs of the aliens.

Around the street, they saw the scattered corpses of guardsmen.

“The guard has already broken through this sector,” Tiberius assessed the situation. “Still, we must move on and find out if that minotaur still lives.”

“Then I suggest we run, I am picking up a lot of guard chatter around here,” Cassius informed. “They might reach your prize before you.”

As to encourage him to increase the speed of his hunt, a Chimera escorted by a small squad of guardsmen appeared behind him. He recognized them as cadian soldiers, although he did not recall the specific regiment.

He knew his laws demanded that he spoke with them; he sometimes questioned the wisdom of that law.

“Look, sarge,” one human said. “We’ve got marines in here, job just got easier.”

“First new guys, then this?” another one said as he added. “This has gotta be our lucky day.”

“Will you two shut your trap already?” A third man in the back sounded annoyed by his fellow soldiers. “He’s about to talk, let him do his thing.”

He stepped towards the tank as he spoke with all the pride he could pretend to muster in his voice.

“Hail soldiers of the Imperium, I am Sergeant Tiberius of the Star Lords,” he began. “Who from amongst your ranks wields the authority to speak for all of you?”

“That would be me,” a man emerged from behind the tank and walked towards the five brothers with a formal smile. “Sergeant Hekter, of the twenty-fifth Cadian, mechanized infantry. A pleasure to meet all of you, I hope this is the beginning of a fruitful cooperation.”

“That depends on your direction and your orders,” Tiberius replied, hoping to soon part ways with the unnecessary humans. “For we do not wish to derail you from your sacred duty.”

“Actually, the enemy here is completely broken now; we’re just clearing out pockets of resistance,” The man informed Tiberius. “It’s way faster than expected, but hey I’m not gonna question good luck, and that means we are free to assist you in whatever you are doing.”

He knew that tradition demanded he accepted that offer.

“We gladly welcome your aid,” he told him, feigning enthusiasm. “We are hunting what we think might be a local commander, he resembles a minotaur of olden legends. Do you have any reports that might tell us whither he has taken refuge or if he has been slain?”

Hekter spent a few moments thinking and looking up at the sky.

“You are lucky, if by minotaur you mean a buff guy with the head of a bull, I think we might have your target,” he said. “Guard Command just identified him as a commander gathering all the local aliens to him two clicks to the north.”

“I can see the report too now,” Cassius said. “Unbelievable swiftness, mayhap he employed a portal?”

“Report said nothing about warp activity here, well, except for some of their defensive spells,” Hekter replied. “But you gotta keep an open mind about this kind of stuff, right?”

“An open mind is like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded,” Tiberius scolded the human. “Be careful with your thoughts guardsman, a lost mind wanders in dark places.”

“Oh, right,” Hekter lowered his eyes. “Anyway, I think we have a target now and we don’t wish to delay you any further. Do you wish to lead the way?”

“Chivalry demands that we do.”

“As you wish.”

Hekter then went back to the tank and emerged from the turret.

“Marines will lead our way, boys, don’t get soft now.”

They kept a steady pace, both the humans and the astartes, who sometimes had to slow down to allow the guardsmen to catch up.

There were many distractions during the travel. Like other humans who joined forces with them are occasional pockets of five or six aliens defending individual streets to the death and opting for suicidal charges once they ran out of ammo or noticed the marines.

In another circumstance, the easy but honorable battle would have taken all of Tiberius’ attention, but the circumstances were not normal. Tiberius could focus on only one thing: He wanted that minotaur’s head and bring it to Galahad. The coward had fled their first encounter; it was not an offense Tiberius would let go unanswered.

With grim determination he advanced north, killing all of those who stood in his path, his reflexes enhanced by his burning desire for vengeance.

Eventually, squad Tiberius and the humans reached their destination. As Hekter said, the minotaur had taken position just outside a forest and had already dug out some trenches. The trees were tall columns of wood with branches twisted like claws gripping the skies and sparse dark green leaves that covered all light from above.

Tiberius caught sight once more of the minotaur, who had a determined look in his eyes, and made a gesture for to him as he stepped outside of the forest brandishing a spiked mace covered with blue energy, occasionally looking back into the dark forest.

He first heard, then saw the chimera’s main gun pointing toward the minotaur, obviously preparing to kill him quickly.

“If you take that shot, all of you shall perish by my hand,” he warned them. “The minotaur’s head is mine alone to claim. Join battle with other aliens.”

“Understood, Sergeant Tiberius,” Hekter said as the gun immediately began to pint somewhere else. “We’ll find a more appropriate target.”

Knowing that his target was secure, Tiberius rushed to face him.

Not even feeling the bullets that hit him, he ran towards his prey. Small arms fire bounced off his armor like rain on steel, and the few explosives his foes threw at him were easily dodged and sidestepped. He used his bolter only to fire at the few aliens wielding their largest weapons, except for Icarus, his brothers were doing the same.

What happened in the trenches was a repeat of the events in the house from which they had run away. The marines easily tore them apart, and the fight turned into a one-sided butchery.

They soon all retreated under the dark cover of the forest, with one exception: The minotaur himself, who gestured for Tiberius to come to with a smile on his face and a minor star shining in both of his eyes.

He stepped forward and attached his bolter to his belt; he then gripped his chainsword with both hands, mind and body prepared for the duel.

Pleased by what he saw, he also stepped forward and gripped his mace with both hands.

They walked in a circle for several seconds. The minotaur was probably trying to find a weakness that he would never find, but Tiberius was just waiting for him to make a mistake he could exploit.

A movement of the shoulder was all the warning Tiberius needed of the incoming attack. He stepped back as the minotaur struck from above. He reacted by trying to cut off both his arms with a single cut, but the minotaur retreated a second before that could happen.

Tiberius attacked again, but his opponent was once again swift enough to avoid his blows. In fact, he was much swifter than what Tiberius had observed him to be before. He assumed some combat drugs caused his unnaturally quick reflexes, but perhaps there was something very peculiar about this alien’s biology. Whatever the origins of the reflexes were, the results were the same.

The mace appeared from out of his field of vision and hit him in the chest. The enchanted spikes pierced both adamantium plate and transhuman flesh with ease and drew blood. Tiberius felt himself losing contact with the ground and being slowly lifted above the grinning minotaur’s head.

Feeling the need to spit blood, Tiberius removed his helmet and considered aiming for the face, but he wanted to bring Galahad a pristine head, and the acid in an Astartes’ spit would have ruined that. He instead aimed for one of the hands that held the mace.

The shot landed perfectly and forced the minotaur to drop both the mace and Tiberius to the ground as he clutched his burned hand. He had enough composure to not scream because of the pain.

Tiberius took a few seconds to spit some excess blood still in his mouth and to put his helmet back on while his foe took those moments to grab his weapon with his still uninjured left hand.

Not one to be discouraged easily, the minotaur was once again the first one to strike, but this time he was slower than he had been at the beginning and Tiberius intercepted the attack an instant before it connected with his head.

Both sides pushed with all their strength, but Tiberius’ advantage in sheer physical prowess was enormous, and soon the tide turned in favor of the knight and the mace’s spikes pressed against the black fur.

The two fighters were separated when the minotaur kicked Tiberius in the chest just as the spikes were about to pierce his flesh.

They both charged at each other, blade and mace meat on the air multiple countless times as both of them were sure their victory was just one good stroke away. The only question was who would the first fatal mistake. Tiberius lost count of many of his attacks were deflected just moments before they could land, and of how many times he had to take a step back to save his life.

The long-awaited mistake came when the minotaur finally took one second too long on a swing, something that Tiberius exploited immediately to cut off the only good hand his enemy still had and then buried his chainsword deep into the alien’s chest.

Defeated, he fell on his knees, and took one last look at the dark forest before Tiberius unceremoniously decapitated him. His body hit the ground just as his blood poured out like water from a fountain and covered the dirt and the once yellow leaves.

Tiberius grabbed the severed head, quickly polished it, and then attached it to his belt. He had not even noticed his four brothers were now behind him.

“The Sergeant and the Minotaur!” Icarus was the one to break the silence. “A moment for the Tower of Memories for sure, my liege.”

“I doubt it, I did not behave with honor in this duel. Many hours shall I have to spend praying for forgiveness,” Tiberius pointed at the forest. “But now is not the time to think about that. I am sure he was defending this place for a reason. I want to discover what it was, but we shall not venture in there alone. We will return to this place, with greater numbers.”