Sola Scriptura

by Jeffrey "Midwest" Arp

Part I

Isaac strolled down the dim passage. He was in the belly of the beast, the *Dead Hand of Authority*. He had been a Wordbearer since the time of Horus and the Great Rebellion.

A Chaplain. A keeper of the Faith. The Faith in Chaos Undivided.

Isaac continued down the long hall, nodding approval as lesser Chaplains blessed the Undead, the warriors known as dreadnaughts. The hall was not unlike a long stable, each stall housing one of the metallic beasts within its marble and plasteel confines. Isaac stopped momentarily to admire Tubal-Kahn's newest addition, a truly awesome creation of the Iron Warriors. Isaac's Lord had become interested in engines of siege warfare, and so had turned to the masters of static defense and combat. Currently, the warped adamantium monstrosity stood empty. But an appropiate warrior, willing or otherwise, would take its helms, wielding its archaic Thunder Hammer and murderous twin-linked Reaper Cannon against the Kahn's enemies.

As Isaac continued walking, he smirked at the entire situation. Even Heretics will try and hold on to the past, he told himself. His Wordbearers were no exception. The dreadnaughts contained within the *Dead Hand of Authority* had at first been treated as fellow Brother-Wordbearers, not as the violent psychopaths that they really were. These were not Imperial dreads, thought the Chaplain, not the war tombs of fallen heroes, but the iron and adamantium masks of those who stumbled on the path to Chaos. Few of the raging creations could contain their impulses for strife and warfare, and had gone on bloodsplattering rampages against their once brother marines. Many now had to be chained to the thick, cold, marble walls, interlaced and supported with plasteel gridframes. The ancient, grimy structures of the Long Hall showed many signs of stress and weakening where immense chains held the greatest of playthings to the Daemonic forces of the Warp.

The hall was filled with the soothing, if metallic, voices of the Legion's Chaplains. Hours would be spent by the junior Chaplains as they perfected their sermons and oratories on the captive audiences of the Long Hall. It was part of the training of a Wordbearer Chaplain; he must know and walk the fine line between rousing his men to unthinkable deeds of religious fervor and calming his men to eternal silence. Many was the Aspiring Chaplain who unwittingly crossed the line, and consequently was torn apart by one of the beserk monstrosities. it was the ultimate test of leadership. The Chaplain must learn that in order to gain control, he must ultimately let go.

It was like Chaos itself, Isaac reminded himself. He remembered the words of Chaplain Perandissus, the Chaplain that had trained and inducted him, dead now for more than five millenia. He had likened the Warp to the sands of a beach. The tighter your grip, the more that slipped through. If the Chaplain failed to learn this lesson, his men stood no chance, and he would fail his Lord, his Gods, his very reason for being.

And with that grim thought, Isaac returned to the present. He was nearing the stall that held the greatest beast of them all, Arpachshad. A Champion of the Wordbearers who had fought, died, and been reborn in the chaos surrounding Horus's defeat, Arpachshad was the only dreadnaught of the Wordbearers to have survived their ten thousand year existence as the torchbearers of Chaos Undivided.

Normally, Arpachshad was a raving lunatic. His Brother-Wordbearers had long ago stopped the chantings and the prayers for his soul. He could no longer be quieted forcibly. He could only be wrapped and sheathed in the strongest chains of reinforced metal, support beams supporting the already heavily fortified stall that occupied the very end of the dimly-lit Long Hall. In battle he had to be forcibly, often psychically, retained until the very moment he was to be deployed. Arpachshad, full of the raging hatred and fevered blood dreams of the Daemonically touched, would bellow forth, wreaking havoc and death with his archaic weapons, a Heavy Plasma Gun and Thunder Hammer. His blood lust was unsatiable. He would not quit even when there was no more enemy left. Only the draining of his massive energy packs could slow him. And once his metallic flesh shuddered from the fatigue of total war, the Chaplains would rush in, buffeting him in restraining fields until he could be returned to his lair in the Hall, where he would stay until once again the Dark Gods of the Warp breathed the fire of war back into their most foul creation.

But tonight was special. Most of the ship was at rest, more out of habit and tradition than need. And while Arpachshad never slept, on occassion the inner demons of the millenia-old Wordbearer would calm, and for a brief period, the living ancestor of the Legion would once again be lucid.

And that was why Isaac had come down to the Long Hall. As a Chaplain, one of his many duties is the preservation of his Legion's history. While Isaac had many memories of the Heresy and the confusion of their escape from the Loyalists, there were many more that had slipped through his grasp. But a creation like Arpachshad, whose archaic memory banks were nearly limitless, was a treasured library to the veteran Chaplain. Whenever Arpachshad returned to the realms of his fellow Wordbearers, Isaac could be found with him, deep in conversation with the ancient dreadnaught, recording every moment, and hanging on every word, of the one called Arpachshad.

And as Isaac neared the final length of the Long Hall, his thoughts turned to the events that were scheduled for the next day, for another Day of Becoming had arrived. At this very moment, young initiates hoping to join the Wordbearer Legion of Lord Tubal-Kahn, the Bearer of Woe, emerged themselves deep in the rites and rituals necessary for their survival tomorrow, for the protections and favours of the Warp Gods that would carry them forth.

And at their helm would be Isaac. Him and the other veteran Chaplains of the Legion would lead Initiate squads into the maw of bitter warfare against Imperial marines, the sworn enemies of the Legion. He would lead, and he would watch. It would be up to him whether they were inducted or sacrificed. He would test them physically, mentally, but above all, spiritually. If they failed, the Gods of Chaos would be awarded with their blood. If they succeeded, then the ignorant flock of the Imperium would have another reason to pull the covers closer at night.

Part II

Chaplain Delzeit walked down the silent rows of Blood Angels. From the granite podium of the gothic chapel, he could hear Chaplain Tsesmelus chant the liturgies and prayers of the faithful. As Delzeit passed each Marine, he stopped long enough to bless the man's armour and weaponry, noting any sign that could point to failing struggle again that which burned within each Blood Angel.

He himself had felt it many times. Each time, it seemed to become harder and harder to maintain his grip over the Rage. Yet he managed to do so. And as Delzeit walked further down the line, he noticed one who was unable. His stare was blank to the outside reality surrounding him, but full of the fury and emotion of a time long ago.

Another had been found. Motioning to a junior Chaplain, Delzeit had the man lead away to another room, where those who would fight their last battle today were prepared to die with honour and glory. He noted that of the nearly two hundred Marines present, nearly thirty had given in to the Red Thirst, to the psychic deathcry of Sanguinius encoded in each Blood Angel.

Finished with the blessings, Delzeit left the chapel, where Tsesmelus's voice wavered and pitched with emotion over the sacrifices that would be made today on the battlefield.

Striding down the short, dark passageway linking the granite and rock chapel to the inner chamber, Delzeit quickly reviewed the situation of Warne IV. An agricultural planet with a few villages, Warne IV had fallen prey to the foul machinations of the Traitor Legions.

Or one to be exact. Wordbearers. From out of the Galactic Core. What they had wanted here was unknown. The only thing that Imperial command could guess was slaves and sacrifices for their dark Gods. The mere thought of such abhoritions disgusted the battle-hardened Chaplain. He had seen what Chaos could do to humanity. He had not been around for the Heresy, and had yet to face a Black Crusade, but he had seen enough of the small raids by Traitor warbands, and the uprisings of desperate Cultists to see the ugly mark of heresy. A detachment of the Wordbearers was nearing the village he was standing in, a rather large settlement known simply as "North". Although small by Hive standards, the village's twenty klick diameter was impressive amidst the sea of crops that covered the majority of land on Warne IV, the only inhabitable planet of the system.

He had been chosen to lead the Death Company in the upcoming fight. Delzeit knew that his Blood Angels would carry the day, he could only hope that his job would be fulfilled, and that those under his command would not suffer the terrible effects of the Black Rage for long.

Delzeit opened the door to the inner chamber. A simple plasteel structure with ornate gold carvings lining the walls, filling up the corners. The inner chamber had been made to hold dozens of priests during religious festivals and other important events. The chosen Blood Angels were spread evenly throughout the room, Chaplains walking amongst them, helping them into the jet black suits of armour reserved only for them.

As Delzeit continued walking, he could see the barely restrained faces of his battle-brothers seemingly cry in horrer of what they were witnessing in their own minds; many were seemingly oblivious to the prayers being recited over them as the Blood Angel Chaplains painted bright swaths of red onto shoulder pads, gloves, leg boots, powerfists. The red Xs covering the Death Company seemingly pulsated against the formless black armour they stretched across. As each Marine finished his preparations, Delzeit personally blessed him. Reciting the long, archaic, and hauntingly beautiful hymns of the Moripatris, the Mass of Doom, Delzeit filled the room with the tales of heroic deeds performed by their chapter, of the sacrifice that the Death Company would make, and how the Emperor would shed many tears from the Golden Throne for his most beloved Chapter. Giving a final blessing upon both the Death Company and the accompanying Chaplains, Delzeit closed the scarred, worn book of Imperial Theology that was held next to his left hip by simple chains of gold and iron.

Leading the Death Company from the chamber, Chaplain Delzeit returned to the chapel just as Tsesmelus finished his Battle Mass with the untouched Blood Angels. The arrayed Sons of Sanguinius looked on as Delzeit, with his finely crafted Crozius Arcanum held aloft in his gauntleted left hand, led the somber Death Company towards the church's massive stained-glass doors. The bright Warne star cast rainbowed images of Warne IV's harvest season upon the procession. As the Death Company left the building, Sergeants, Chaplains, and other officers began organizing their respective troops, making sure each was properly equipped and knowledgeable for the upcoming battle.

Delzeit watched as the Death Company, broken down into squads each led by its own Chaplain, boarded the waiting Rhinos, which were also ceremoniously painted in the black and red of their passengers. Many bore additional trophies and markings testifying to their long service to the chosen of the Blood Angels. The two Death Company Razorbacks, which were to serve as the personal transports for Delzeit and his own squad of DC, grumbled menacingly as their engines revved up for battle. Their hulls and turrets, like many of the Rhinos, were decorated with small gargoyles, angelic seraphim, and the intricate paintings of the visions that their passengers indured. At least to the best estimates of the Chaplains and crew who had laboured over their creation.

Knowing that he and his men would lead the charge, Delzeit went ahead and ordered the now mechanized Death Company forward. The rest of the Blood Angels would catch up them.

Alive or dead, the Chaplain thought. Alive or dead.

Part III

Chaplain Isaac and his Wordbearer Initiates slowly crept through the tall wheat crops that bordered the western entrance to the village of North. Jumppacking deep behind the Blood Angel lines, they now turned back, hoping to catch reserve forces offguard.

The main battle was being waged on North's western perimeter, with the loyalist Marines trying to drive their way in, and the Hereticals trying to drive them into the ground. Four other Chaplains besides Isaac had jumppacked around the Blood Angel force, and were now making their way back. They would wreak havoc and confusion, giving their battle-brothers in North the opportunity to annihilate the loyalist dogs.

How child-like they are, thought Isaac. They think the Emperor is beneficient and loving. They know not the true reality of religion. It has nothing to do with love or joy. It is about war and hatred. Khorne and Slaanesh were not created by humans loving each other, but by humans killing and debasing one another. But petty minds such as the Imperial Marines could not understand such realities. They were too caught up in the fancy rituals of delusion. Their Emperor is dead and they can't admit it. Don't want to admit it. They have already lost the Long War, and they know it. With every taste of our blades and bullets, they fear us. With every whisper of power and glory, they tremble.

And these Blood Angels! Isaac couldn't help but laugh at their blind devotion to what was nothing more than a Chaos Spawn, a stupid creature that had died for nothing.

Not I, the Wordbearer thought. I shall live forever. The Warp and my battle-brothers shall see to that. My soul will never rest. I shall haunt the wretched remnants of this once glorious Empire until every mindless citizen of it knows my name!

In the distance, Isaac could hear the idle rumble of Imperial engines. Snaking forward, he could make out a group of Whirlwinds, their racks nearly empty as they unloaded towards the enemy positions. Nearby, Blood Angels waited with missiles in hand.

Isaac continued to creep forward. Using hand signals, the six Initiates under him spread out. They had trained hard for this. They would not fail their Chaplain now at such a critical moment.

Isaac stopped, checking for any sound that might indicate the presence of other Blood Angels.

There weren't any.

Giving the signal, the Wordbearers leapt into the air, coming down hard upon the startled loyalists. Archaic weaponry bit deep into the Blood Angels.

Some tried to fight back.

One Initiate, the youngest, was stunned by a bolter shot. In incredible pain, dizzy from the shock and adrenaline, Jaketh couldn't dodge his killer's second bolt. It tore through his upper chest. Shards of his power armour sliced his neck, his shoulder blade cracked and exploded, showering his backside with blood and tissue. He tried to struggle on, but could not. He slumped forward, landing on the soft dirt that had been cleared for the Whirlwinds.

But the surprise had been too quick for the Imperials. After quickly dispatching the loading crew, Isaac and his men turned on the tanks themselves. Mishnah leveled his ornate flamethrower at each of the three Imperial vehicles, smothering the gunners in flickering tongues of horrifying death. Behind him Khainehk and Maess, both armed with deadly powerfists, punched holes into the thin sides of the now burning vehicles, barely escaping the violent explosions that racked and tore apart the Whirlwinds.

Believing it to be fitting as a funeral pyre, and to deny the loyalist dogs any pleasure they might recieve, Isaac personally picked up the pierced body of Jaketh, and reciting ancient hymns of burial and rebirth, threw the dead Initiate into one of the burning tanks. After his task was completed, Isaac signaled to the remaining initiates to continue their advance. Mishnah, with his flamer readied, led the way with Rahnek, who had provided cover for his brother-Initiates with his plasma pistol, and had now unsheathed his powersword, using it to cut a small path through the dense crop. Behind them was Isaac, and behind him was Khainehk, Maess, and Istuv, who had also provided cover along with Rahnek. The remaining five Initiates remained silent, ever vigilent for the actions and orders of their Chaplain.

****** ****** ******

Chaplain Delzeit yelled a blood-curdling warcry as he and his Death Company reached the final meters of their charge on North's perimeter. One Chaplain and nearly half of the thirty-odd Chosen had been butchered by the Heretics accurate firepower.

"But now it is our turn," growled the Chaplain under his breath. His chainsword screamed as he revved it up. Holding aloft his Crozius, Delzeit jumped through a hole punched into the village's stone wall. The Death Company poured in after him.

Looking up, Delzeit fixed his sights on a small squad of the damned Marines, all armed with archaic Lascannons. Wasting no time, Delzeit tackled the one closest to him, knocking him sprawling to the ground, his weapon firing uncontrollably. One of his brother Wordbearers was cut down by the masterless Autocannon, ribbons of flesh and armour vomiting out from his riddled body. Making sure that the third could not level his Autocannon in time, the Blood Angel Chaplain struck it down across the barrel with his Crozius, driving it deep into the dirt, as he drove the whirring teeth of his chainsword deep into the Heretic's side. Twisting and jerking the gnawing weapon to make sure maximum damage was done, Delzeit removed his chainsword from the lifeless Wordbearer. Raising the Crozius in his right hand, Delzeit brought the beautifully crafted symbol of his faith down upon the Wordbearer sprawled underneath him, who was now trying to draw his bolt pistol. The Crozius produced a meaty thud as it caved in the helpless Wordbearer's face.

The sight of the dead Heretic sickened the Chaplain. Not because of its wounds, but because of who it was. A Wordbearer. The most blasphemous form of Traitor, thought Delzeit. Fanatical zealots who bowed to debased and degenerate Daemons. The blood of Delzeit boiled and raged as he searched for more victims. His Death Company was making short work of the first line of Wordbearers, all of whom were armed with heavy weapons and boltguns. Monitoring the communications of his fellow Angels, he knew that his fellow brothers would follow the Death Company up, now that the murderous firepower of the Heretics' was being cut down.

Finally, Delzeit spotted a monstrous Wordbearer whose Terminatour armour boasted many trophies of past battles. Wielding a heavy flamer, the monstrosity was trying to corner Chaplain Gracchus and his DC against a corner of the ruined wall section that rimmed the village. Full of rage and anger, barely restraining the rising blood rage within him, Chaplain Delzeit leaped at the Wordbearer from behind. The Wordbearer veteran's thick armour shrugged off the frenzied blows of the Chaplain, a mere nuisance to him. Backhanding the Blood Angel, the Wordbearer's heavy flamer sent Delzeit flying a short distance backwards. Cruel blades and hooks on its end sliced through the Chaplain's left shoulder pad, sending blood streaming down his arm. As his body stopped moving, Delzeit returned to his feet, confident in his genetically-modified body's ability to heal itself. As he got to his feet, Delzeit watched as Gracchus bounced a haywire grenade between the Wordbearer's Legs. An intense electrical buzzing signaled that the weapon was working properly, and as the immobile Wordbearer stood confused over what was causing his suit to malfunction, Delzeit pointed the Crozius at the trapped Wordbearer. Pressing a small button on the weapon's handle, Delzeit launched a krak grenade from a small launcher welded to the Crozius's carved eagle-head. The explosive hit dead on, the chest plates of the massive Wordbearer disappeared in the blinding explosion. Damaging the haywire grenade, which lost its grip on the Heretic, the krak sent the Wordbearer sprawling backwards, his heavy flamer spitting a few last bursts of noxious flames wildly about.

Saluting Chaplain Gracchus for his bravery and help, Chaplain Delzeit turned to lead his frenzied men deeper into the village. Already he could see the blood red armour of the main Blood Angel force as they streamed in through the western gate of North. He knew the Wordbearers would not last much longer.

Part IV

Chaplain Isaac, along with his Wordbearer Initiates, could hear the warcries and screams of his brethren back in North. Aware of the Blood Angels' success in breaking into the village, he sped his men's advance. The other four Chaplains that had also outflanked the loyalists, each with a squad of Initiates, took notice of the veteran Chaplain's actions. With most of the Blood Angels either dead or inside the city, it did not take long for the Wordbearers to reach North.

After reaching the shattered remnants of the stone wall that had served as the defensive perimeters of his battle-brothers, Isaac peered through a crater that a Lascannon had cleanly sliced through the meter thick fortification. Searching for possible targets, Isaac's gaze came upon the battered remnants of the Imperial Church. No more than half a click from Isaac and his men, the Church's grey hide was covered in scorch marks and deep gouges where errant shots had sliced into the ancient structure. An entire corner of the modest-sized building was completely blackened; the remains of an attempt to ignite it, thought Isaac. He wondered if any loyalists had been foolish enough to count on such a "holy" site to protect themselves.

Turning to his men, Isaac prepared to find out.

****** ****** ******

Delzeit swung his chainsword at the last second. The Blood Angel Chaplain was being cornered by a Wordbearer veteran, a massive chainaxe being wielded with unbelievable skill in the its hands.

Parrying the decapitation attempt on him by the foul creature, Chaplain Delzeit nearly dropped to his knees as he swung his Crozius low. With the force of a raging, four hundred year old Blood Angel Chaplain propelling it forward in a sweeping arc, the Imperial Eagle carved atop it smashed into the Wordbearer's left kneecap. The Heretic's power armour was unable to stop such a crushing blow. With a sickening crack remeniscent of an old Terran Oak being snapped in half, the Wordbearer's knee gave way, caving in at a sharp angle as the leg below it lurched in a violent spasm. Losing his balance, the Wordbearer was unable to stop Delzeit's final blow, as the Blood Angel cleaved off the Heretic's right arm along with most of the attached shoulder blade.

Looking for more targets, Delzeit looked up just in time to see the final Death Company marine under his command plummet over a solid oak banister and down the long staircase to the ground floor of the archaic building they were in. Simultaneously, he could make out the whining sounds of jumppacks straining outside the wall he stood next to. Craters were punctured throughout the ancient, grey wall, but he could not make out the source.

After a final look around, Delzeit prepared to make his way to the building's third and final floor.

****** ****** ******

Isaac was the first to land on the rooftop of the Imperial Church. Simple metal plating kept the elements of Warne IV from entering the inner chambers.

But I'm no element, thought Isaac.

He turned around to watch as the rest of the squad caught up with him. Each Wordbearer Initiate landed with utmost care, unsure of the roof's safety. All that is, except Maess. Extending his powerfist and chainsword to create the impression of a landing bird, the former Ultramarine attempted to impress his brother-initiates with a precise landing on the raised edge of the Church's roof.

But Maess was not perfect. As he landed, he tripped on a small, lead statue of a weathered cherubim. With all of his weight coming down on his right foot, the raised roof edge of layered stone gave way. Falling forward in an attempt to fly himself over the raised embankment, he only managed to knock himself out, crashing his helmet into the statue, sending both it and him out of control. Maess fell the entire three stories, his massive jumppack sending him headfirst into the paved street below. The metal section that connected the jumppack's two massive intakes came crashing down hard on the back of his neck. Combined with the awkward angle he landed at, Isaac and the others watched as Maess's head shot out from his body like a cannon shot. Bouncing off the Church wall, it continued rolling down the street and out of sight, leaving a trail of blood as it rolled along.

As always, thought Isaac, the fool always shows his hand. Maess would not be missed. Ordering his men to stay clear, Isaac walked a few meters towards the center of the roof. His men watched as he placed a melta-bomb charge along a seam between two metal plates that formed part of the roof's protective covering, his jumppack sending him skyward as it detonated, tearing a gaping hole where it had been.

Steering himself down into the hole, Isaac entered the building first, with the Initiates quickly following him in. As the last initiate, Mishnah, landed, shooting broke out. An enemy Blood Angel Chaplain was already in the room. Mishnah readied his flamer, taking note of the jagged hole in Istuv's chest, his bolt pistol and poweraxe scattered about. Kneeling over in pain next to him was Rahnek, who had dropped his plasma pistol, his left hand merely a stump of fused metal and flesh. Mishnah looked up to see the Chaplain dispatch Khainehk with a wicked blow to the face with the butt of his sword, sending the Wordbearer unconscious and sprawling into a nearby wooden podium. With one motion, the Blood Angel brought around its Crozius, pointing it directly towards Isaac. Mishnah noticed the grenade launcher attached to the Blood Angel's weapon. Realizing what was about to happen, he tried to warn Isaac.

But his Chaplain already knew.

As the Blood Angel fired an explosive at the Wordbearer Chaplain, Mishnah watched in horrer as Isaac reached over and, grabing the wounded Rahnek by the arm, swung the Initiate into the grenade's path. The explosive, obviously meant for use against armoured opponents, ripped the poor Initiate apart. Rahnek's body convulsed wildly as shockwaves from the direct hit raced through his body, chunks of armour and splinters of bone sprayed to the sides as his lower organs vomited forth from his exposed stomache.

After the ringing echoes of the explosion died down, Isaac let go of the sagging Initiate, letting Rahnek hit the floor with a soft thud as he unholstered his hand flamer. Wielding his Crozius, Isaac motioned for Mishnah and Khainehk, who had since regained consciousness and had risen to his feet, to back off. The Blood Angel was his...

****** ****** ******

Delzeit could not believe his eyes. Launching the krak grenade at the foul abomination standing opposite him, Delzeit had prepared himself to attack the remaining Heretics.

But to his disbelief, and even horror, the Blood Angel had watched as the Fallen Chaplain grabbed one of his OWN MEN, a brother Wordbearer, if one could be called such, and used him as a sacrificial shield, taking the full blast of the deadly grenade, discarding the broken and shattered body without so much a care.

But then...The Wordbearer Chaplain called off the rest of his men. Raising his twisted Crozius high, the Wordbearer began repeating ancient litanies against the Blood Angel. Delzeit's ear screamed with righteous anger as the Heretic launched one blasphemous idea after another, debasing and smearing the Emperor with each passing second.

Delzeit could not take it any longer. He launched his own verbal barrage against the Wordbearer's foul Gods. Seconds turned into minutes on the third floor of the Imperial Church as the two Chaplains profaned the other's beliefs.

Finally, the Heretic had had enough.

The Wordbearer dropped his archaic hand flamer.

The Blood Angel dropped his bloodied chainsword.

They each gripped their Crozius tightly with both hands.

And charged in for the kill...

Part V

"Foul Dog!!", yelled Delzeit. Hot blood flowed through his genetically altered veins. He never felt so alive before in his life.

I'll rip that Heretic's throat out! I'll show him what true faith is all about!!

****** ****** ******

"The Emperor is a rotting carcass, Blood Angel! A pathetic mongrel of a dog! And you, Blood Angel, you are nothing but a parasite who lives off a dead man's body!!" The words spewed out of Isaac with such joy that he could barerly remember how to fight.

I have never felt such emotion, thought Isaac. Finally, I have found an opponent worthy of my devotion! Look at him, he's afraid! But why not? For he is already dead; the Gods have seen to this. He tries to gain leverage with his beloved Crozius, but it is no match for mine. He is weak, I am strong, he is unsure, I am without question. He is nothing without his Shepherd, but I... I am the most dangerous of wolves! It is all he can do to block and parry the inevitable. It is all he can do to draw out the suffering. The Loyalist Whelp knows he will finally discover how dead the Emperor really is!

****** ****** ******

"Blasphemous Traitor! Repent now or I shall do it for you!" The blood now raged with Delzeit. He could feel his grip on the situation slipping away into the dark nightmare of the Black Rage. Horrendous visions floated around him. He could see his beloved Primarch. Oh how he wanted to reach out and touch One of such nobility! So perfect in body and mind. Had humanity fallen so low since the time of Sanguinius? Had his Blood Angels?

A raging monster loomed at him from the corner of his eye, its grinning skull-mask melting into the horrendous image of One who could be no other than Horus. But impossible, thought Delzeit. How could the foul Warmaster still live? He knew that the answer lied within him, but that it was forever lost to him.

The Rage would not be stopped this time.

Delzeit quit fighting the raw emotions that speared his soul like white lights in the darkest hole. Rage and anger whirlpooled with love and ecstasy as the Black Rage engulfed him. He knew he was still fighting, his highly trained body automatically attacking and defending against his nearly forgotten enemy.

Suddenly, a surge of raw emotion exploded the back of his mind. All was clear. He was outside his body. He could see the fight going on below, yet he could also see through his eyes. He could feel nor hear anything. If it was anything, it was calm. It was relief.

But he could already feel the anger pooling deep inside him. The unknown Heretical Chaplain was relentless in his attack. Red and white lights flashing in and around his face, Delzeit focused on his attacker. Style would not work, he knew, as he swung his Crozius wildly, relying on pure strength to get through the Word Bearer's defenses.

Crack! The Heretic's skull-mask cracked and chipped from a direct impact. Searing pain blinded Delzeit as the Word Bearer retaliated, catching him in the throat with the butt of his archaic weapon. Another wild swing and the Word Bearer's mask blew apart, showering the air around them with fragments of bone and metal. Delzeit could see the glistening of blood and brain tissue oozing from the Heretic's cracked skull.

Ecstasy. Delzeit felt the uncontrollable urge to feed upon the smashed Chaplain's head, now bent down as the Word Bearer fell to his knees. Not even trying to restrain himself, Delzeit launched his body at the horrendous wound.

****** ****** ******

Explosions echoed throughout Isaac's head. He thought he was winning, he thought he had guaranteed his Gods a proper sacrifice.

Now all he could do was absorb the unfocused images splayed across his field of view. He had not seen the blow, but he could feel the after affects. Such a strange feeling to know your head's open, he thought, unsure as how to respond to the piercing sensations that sent his world spinning.

Knowing he was about to die, Isaac started to close his eyes for the inevitable when he saw the Blood Angel Chaplain jump at him. Startled, he surprised himself by willing his numb arms upward. He barely had his Crozius leveled at the black armoured Marine's head when the loyalist met the ring of iron spikes that served as a crown for the ancient Crozius' carved skull icon. The longest horn, centered between the skull's eyes, easily pierced the Blood Angel's helmet. The Loyalist's impact drove him backwards, hitting the stone floor with a loud crack, his head whiplashing from the sudden stop. As Isaac's world faded to black, he could hear the accursed Blood Angel's skull splinter and crack as his body sagged down on the Crozius before toppling to the side.

Mishnah and Khainehk, believing that Isaac could still be living, dragged his motionless body down the stairs, using short, coordinated bursts of their jumppacks to hurry out of the building.

The streets outside of the Imperial Church were empty, save the fallen Marines, Blood Angel and Word Bearer alike, that were dispersed seemingly haphazardly across the two Initiates' view. They could hear the fighting further east. Realizing their chance for escape, Mishnah and Kahinehk, still carrying Isaac's broken body, ran west, their minds scrambling to find the best route to their assigned pick-up zone, which was located on a bend in the river that flowed towards the western sea.

Westward, thought Mishnah. Westward. Nothing else matters.

****** ****** ******

The *Dead Hand Of Authority* dropped out of Warp space, it's hull moaning and creaking as it made the transition back into the realm of space known as the Galactic Core. Deep in its belly, a dead calm blanketed the Long Hall. The raging Dreadnaught Arpachshad was quiet, save for the occasional, metallic whisper concerning memories long ago. He had a visitor.

Enshrined in thick armour plating coated in a warm red, Isaac stood motionless as Arpachshad told a saga of an encounter he had with the Loyalist Marines known as the Space Wolves, many years ago on a planet not far from the Eye of Terror.

Isaac remained motionless as the Chaplains came to cleanse and bless the weaponry that hung from his body. His twin Reaper Cannons gleamed in the dim light of the Long Hall as the junior Chaplains rubbed holy oil over the long barrels, careful to avoid the numerous spikes and blades that jutted from Isaac's iron tomb.

He was now a Dreadnaught. Parchments and prophesies nailed to his metallic body served as mute testimony to his life as a Word Bearer Chaplain. Mishnah and Khainehk had dragged his body back to the pick-up zone. Upon returning to the *Dead Hand Of Authority*, Isaac's brother-Chaplains worked fast to save what they could of their fallen comrade. Realizing that nothing could preserve him as a Word Bearer Marine, they made the decision to immortalize the lifeless Chaplain as a Walking Undead, a Warrior who live forever inside an iron mask that would forever separate him from many of his brother Word Bearers.

But Isaac shed no tears, felt no grief over his loss. Listening as his new brother, Arpachshad, continued his tale of heroics agaisnt the Space Wolves, Isaac, now the Dreadnaught known as Sheddeur, "the Shedder of Light", knew he was home.

And that he would never die.

THE END

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