The central square of Secundis Insidia is a cavernous place, spanning what would amount to three levels of the Hive if they were with the usual plastcrete flooring and ceranmite floors. Instead, in the centre of the floor and at the heart of the Hive itself is the Basilica Decus, the grand cathedral of the Hive, reaching into the ceiling far above and deep into the roots. Here, however, is the main nave, where each day hundreds of thousands come to celebrate the eternal God-Emperor of Mankind and His great Works. Each stained glass window shows a scene of the Emperor, or one of his Blessed Saints, bringing peace and glory to the Universe through word and deed and sword and fire.
If the Cathedral is the heart of the hive then the buildings on the edge of the square are the vital organs needed to keep it healthy. The Arbites Fortress Precinct loomed to one side, ready to stand against those oppose Imperial Law. The Administratum dominates another area, spanning into the heights like a lesser copy of the Basilica.
The Shrine Mechanicus sits to another - low and long, as though trying to avoid comparisons, and surrounded by servo skulls and Tech Priests. Great exhausts reached out to the walls, where the plumes were extracted of any useful matter before finally being belched from the Hive.
And between these great buildings were the smaller. Shops of every class, from those selling the finest good crafted by the Hive's Magos to stalls selling Soylent Viridian of various textures and consistency - but not flavours.
A grand hotel was no a Barracks for regiments of the PDF and Imperial Guard, with squads marching in and out. If not for the glowering presence of military police, the Adeptus Arbites and even a contingent of Battle Sisters guarding the Cathedral the square would likely be chaos. As it was even the most unruly trooper looked elsewhere for there fun.
Tensions were high in the square, with many speaking in low, hushed tones, high born and low meeting in groups of there peers after service or before stalls. They said the enemy was making a push again, and even with the newly arrived reserves, the defences were stretched. They said that the attack was coming to a final head. They said that Great Houses were moving to Insidias Primaris, and taking their holdings with them. They said that soon the battle would be street to street, hab to hab, and once that happened it would take the Astrates to save the Hive. They said-
It was more of a sensation that a noise, as if the very air was rendered, screaming. It took a moment for the senses to catch up, to understand the gaping hole that now rent the side of the hive, to realize the wave of cool air following the heat was that of the outside.
The South wall was...gone. Jagged edges of rapidly cooling metal, still red from the blast, surrounded the hole that had torn into the Hive's guts. Beyond...a blasphemy. A Titan sized thing, pointing the still glowing barrel of a massive version of the Melta Gun at the Hive, but covered in runes that made the eyes water and the stomach churn. The monstrosity could not be a Titan, however - it was coated in plants and roots, trees growing off and out of its carapace. No smoke rose from the vast machine, and the sound of toremented metal and grinding ceramite came with its withdrawal.
As it pulled away and out of sight there was the sound of air being pulled into intakes as four air craft appeared. Three of them were strangely shaped, wraped in vines and covered in moss and rust and eye watering sigils. The fourth dominated the others and, while coated in the same strange filth, the machine could only be a Devourer Dropship to anyone who had military experience.
It was as the twisted dropship descended at a shocking rate that a voice boomed over the vox,
The vox cut out with the shriek of a machine-spirit in agony, and another voice - deeper, melodic with a strange gurgle, took its place. The dropship roared overhead and slammed into the Cathedral door, the smaller ships landing around it. In less than thirty seconds since the outer hive had been breached the enemy began to pour out, the Sister of Battle meeting them as the first screams began...
Lothar had only gotten to the square a few minutes before. His leg ached, it still needed to heal and he knew he had a noticeable limp that slowed his gait. Even without taking his finer items into account it was clear from his confident stride and baring that he was of noble birth.
Those with knowledge of the Imperial Guard of the sector would recognise him as a member of the 11th Kinog Grenadiers, a highborn only unit from Kinog. His uniform identified him as a Corporal. That the 11th were not assigned to this world and conflict was of curious note.
A masterwork sword, it's handle embellished with a silver filigree donned his hip and a laspistol on the other side. An unusual pattern of lasgun was slung over his shoulder beside his heavy rucksack packed smartly but to the brim with gear. Grenades lay ready in pouches for the right moment. A longlas, a marksman's weapon was beside the rucksack.
As the enemy began deploying he followed his training and hard won experience. If it wasn't for the ache in his leg he'd be moving quicker he knew and it might cost him his life but a Kinog Grenadier was no coward "For the Emperor!" His squad might be worlds away but he was with men and women fighting for the Emperor, there was no more noble calling than this. Taking cover by one of the statues of Saints and heroes lining the square Lothar pressed his hand against the plinth silently thanking them for the protection of his flesh and requested if they could help protect his soul he would appreciate that too in the current fight.
His eyes began looking for targets, officers and specialists while his hands readied the longlas, at this range it would serve him better than his trusty Deathlight Lasgun. Activating the allied machine spirit of the red dot laser sight he looked down the sight to start harassing the enemy.
Aenarius stood at the side of the road. Covered in flak armor, he might have been mistaken for a soldier, were it not for the Arbiter uniform. He had an autogun in his hands and a sword hanging from his hip. This was in addition to his club...a sure sign that the arbiters did not care about taking prisoners. The situation was such that anyone who needed to be taken in could very well be carried back in a bag and nobody would ask questions. In his squad, Aenarius’ role was to be able to lay down long range covering fire. There were two men thus armed with autoguns, while everyone else had the quintisential shotgun. The arbiters were not going to be easily pinned down. He knew that the choice of weapon, the autogun, was like everything else. A message. Unlike th guard’s lasguns, these were loud. They also did not leave burn wounds...they caused messy splatters of blood to fill the scene. They were designed to send a message. The emperor’s law was here.
Right now he was standing guard. Just to show everyone the arbites were watching. It was boring, truth be told. He watched a grenadier walk down the street. It was an odd sight, he didn’t know they were deployed here. He sighed, inwardly. What he wouldn’t do for something exciting to happen...
...and his wish was granted, much to his dismay. Without realizing it, he was soon standing near the grenadier, his own red dot turned on. Looking at the...Titan? Whatever it was, he felt a knot of fear in his stomach. But, then he sadly reminded himself, he had seen worse. Not anything so deadly, but certainly things more disturbing. He fervently hoped that this day wouldn’t overshadow those nightmares.
Lug walked across the square, his tall, lean, and muscular frame standing out among the mass of tittering humanity. His steps were determined as he approached the seedy bar squeezed between the shops either side. It was his last couple of hours of leave before returning to his Inquisitor, and no doubt it was about to get rough. Real rough. He'd been ordered to remain in uniform, in case he needed to scramble quickly, but surely he'd get to enjoy these last few, precious hours of just being a man at a bar...
Nope.
As the world went to hell, Lug whipped his autogun out and cast an eye about for cover. Then he heard the shout, a strong military voice over his right shoulder: "For the Emperor!" Turning, he saw a proud warrior in an Imperial Guard uniform take cover behind a nearby statue.
If I'm going to die here today, I reckon the two of us could at least take out some xeno garbage before we go.
Lug readied his weapon and took cover beside his fellow Guardsman, noting he was also a corporal. "Greetings corporal. Corporal Laetus on your flank." Lug then began sighting up his first target.
Incompetent fools, how could they not send me the grav-stabilisers, mechanae fixae and servitors required to fix the damage done? I have to do everything myself, it's a wonder the entire hive doesn't collapse out of sheer mis-management!
These were the borderline heretical thoughts of Heironymous Bahrenfahrer as he emerged into the cavernous square, on his way to the Shrine Mechanical to berate his superiors and possibly lose his life.
Luckily for him, it didn't go as planned.
As the hive shook, Heironymous took in the terrifying Nurglite behemoth and ducked into cover, drawing his trust las-carbine, well worn from years of slaying mutants while undertaking repairs in the Underhive of his sector. Seeing two guardsmen taking cover nearby who seemed to have kept their heads, he screeches "Guardsmen! Prepare your squads to repel these heretics! They have disrupted the workings of the most holy Hive, and must pay!"
This outburst was probably less impressive coming from Heironymous than it would from someone else, his incredibly small stature making him look child-like among his Tech-Priest augmentations.
Praetus was headed for the consignment shack dressed in the the coveralls of a factory ape who would no longer need them, The roar of the dropships snapped his attention into the present,he looked to the shack,to the coat and then to the Enemies of the God-Emperor. He was 5 meters away by the time the jacket hit the floor.
He moves against the tide of the fleeing citizens, counting the knives as he went all where in place.
Aunties litany playing through his head as he closes;
"When facing an opponent with a ranged weapon closing the distance is your first duty, cover and speed are your friends. Beware cover traps; alleys are useful in most cases, but against massed foes they can become fire lanes. The rooftops are uncrowded and allow for quick movement, but against a foe with the high ground they paint you as a target."
He was racking his memory of the Square for a path of attack when he saw the three soldiers, 'Yes they will do' he moved into the shadow of a nearby shop where he removed the coveralls, pulled the collar of his body clove up to cover his face, unsheathed his sword, and waited for them to act. 'Once they act and get the attention of the foe, it would be his time to close and hone his edge against the enemy of the God-Emperor'
Vasyl Zima was having a good day.
First, the air was as lightly-processed as he had ever experienced. Barely a scent of machines or industrial waste worth speaking of, even with his gas mask around his neck.
Second, his shuttle ride down from the freighter 'Bountiful Abundance' had ended far less explosively than his shuttle ride up, all those months ago over Fenksworld. That had been a pity, the shuttle pilot probably didn't deserve to be blown up. But that was the price that needed paying to hurriedly cover Vasyl's stowing away on board. He had hidden in the underdecks most successfully, barely troubled by the odd mutant or oblivious crew-hand. And for this shuttle trip, he had the luxury of time to carefully hide in a cargo container and then slip away after.
Third, well, no one was currently threatening his life. Always good!
But as the wall was blasted into pieces, Vasyl noted that all good things must come to an end. And usually a rough one.
He rapidly considered his options while putting on his gas mask and checking his autogun.
Flight? No. The invaders were clearly very powerful, able to tear down hive walls. What they would likely do to a fleeing shuttle was enough to dissuade him for now.
Find a noble to attach to? Perhaps. But the nobles here were mostly fools, having left it too late to flee. He at least had the excuse that the freighter had been damaged in the system and would require repairs that may never come.
Fight? Could work. At least the Imperium might bother evacuating some of their elite forces, and maybe, just maybe, he could tag along. Or pretend to be a guardsman, with the right outfit.
Fight it is.
Vasyl runs into cover near two guardsmen and a tech priest, aiming to end up at least a few metres away from any one other combatant.
Others will see a cloaked and hooded figure, his face covered by a gas mask and hints of tools (or weapons) underneath those folds, start putting down bursts of suppressive fire once he can see enemies, shouting at the top of his voice:
"FOR THE EMPEROR!"
It was good to see some of the local civilians pitching in to help as well as another member of the Imperial Guard who seemed to be caught away from his own unit. "Corporal Von Bismarck, 11th Kinog Grenadiers. Corporal Laetus fancy getting them off balance with that autogun of yours. I find a nice noisy autogun leaves them very surprised for a longlas bolt."
The fire from the small group approaching the cathedral draws minimal interest from the...things...disembarking the massive lander. Beings covered in roots and vines and fungus marched out the doors in a steady line, laying down las fire towards the Adeptus Soritas and Priests pulling back towards the doors.
Worse, perhaps, was the attention of the swolled creatures wearing what appeared to be power armour disembariking from the smaller transports. On some of them wholelimbs were missing, replaced with branch like structures. Holes in the once proud armour had vines hanging from them in loops that lugged eerily like guts. But the bolters they carried barker when the trigger was pulled, and they shrugged off the Imperial fire with casual disdain.
As the group began to move towards the greated cathedral a noise gave them reason to pause. The sickening scream of tormented metal under strain sang out across the square and a cloud of dust and debris rained from the ceiling above...and then part of the upper levels to the cathedral collapsed in a slow, graceful fall. Hundreds of thousands of tons of reinforced masonary fell in a long line, crashing down through the middle of the square - and cutting off the approach to the front of the Cathedral. The rear, however, looks clear now.
Maybe it'll be possible to head that way.
The sound of screaming, warcries and weapons fire could be heard beyond the sudden barricade, the hiiss and whine of Lasbolts almost droned out by the thunderous detonation of Bolter Rounds. But it didn't take long to realize that was not the only place with screaming and the sounds of fighting. Overhead more transports - smaller vessels like ruined Valkyries for the most part - were darting in, strange, insect like vehicles escorting them.
The main fighting seemed to be forming at the Arbites Fortress Precint, the automated defences chewing through invaders as Arbites moved to guard there entrance but who were slowly loosing ground as one of the flying attackers joined the frey, and the Mechanicus Shrine with its Skitari Guards and Praetorians slowly being overwhelmed by pure numbers.
With the bulk of these invaders focused on these targets, most civiians unable or unwilling to fight were pouring into the main entrtway, but even there enemy forces were beggining to harrass the citizens.
"To the Mechanicus Shrine guardsmen, my brothers will destroy the foul heretics!"
”To the precinct! We arbites are at the front lines, join us!”
Lug curses as his vision of the action is cut off by the falling masonry. He turns to look at his fellow guardsman, then hears the rallying cries of the men behind him. The Shrine, the precinct, or the main front: he didn't care either way. Just give me a target.
Praetus waits in the shadows to see what this group of armed men would do, Auntie spoke of blessings, moments where the hand of the God-Emperor touched the world. He would follow where this led.
"Very well Arbite, on your head be it. To the precinct, let us save these fools and incompetents. Then to the Mechanicus for the true resistance!"
As he begins moving towards the precinct, keeping a mind to stay close
to cover just in case, Heironymous pulls out his Auspex and begins scanning for any Nurglite or Hive-based hazards caused by the collapsing of a whole segment of the Hive.
Well he couldn't draw a target currently save the too heavily armoured vehicles flying above. All the locations were viable, he would have preferred the Cathedral truth be told but these strangers had only just finished arguing about where to go.
Lothar's limp leads him to slowly gravitate towards the back of the group, keeping pace proving difficult. He stows his longlas so he can hold his Deadlight lasgun in one hand while he keeps his other hand on the hilt of his blade. With the hurried pace straining his wounded leg it is plain to see by his clenched teeth that he is in pain but speaks no complaint.
Sheathing his sword and pulling the mask from covering his face and moves to catch the group, slowing to match their pace as he approaches the limping Guardsman, careful to not get within striking rang of the fine sword the man carries.
Vasyl remained quiet during the argument, while casting his eyes around for discarded weapons or ammunition. Autogun clips or a lasgun preferably.
Biters versus red priests, what a choice. Either might sacrifice the lot of us - and either might be a good place to evacuate 'necessary' personnel. And biters it is. At least they have quality shotguns.
Vasyl moves at a shuffle, far slower than he is capable of, keeping near the back.
He turns to the others near the back and speaks up in a casual fashion. Maybe they'd recognise the Volgite accent, maybe not.
"The name's Vasyl Zima. What are yours?"
This man reminds him of home.
"I am Praetus" he nods to Vasyl
Quietly to himself he intones,"There is only the Emperor,
and he is our Shield and Protector."
Erkan’s boots snapped against the cobblestone alleyway as he ran toward whatever evil lied ahead. He had heard, and not seen, the incident, but could only imagine what horrors now assailed the interior of the hive… horrors he knew all too well. Erkan had arrived on planet within the past week, dispatched by his liege to begin investigation into cultist support for this onslaught. He’d only reconnected with his Lord Inquisitor one Terran month earlier, at his summoning. He had spent the last five years since their initial meeting training for his new, sacredly appointed role within the Ecclesiarchy, as a Banisher tasked to the Ordo Malleus. In truth, his mentor had wanted him to stay longer, but the order of an Inquisitor is the word of the Emperor, and so he was dispatched.
He made the sign of the Aquila as he ran, then unslung his lucius pattern lasgun from his back and prepared for initial contact. The weapon had been a gift, a keepsake from the time he spent aboard a transport he took to begin his training five years past. The guardsmen from Krieg, dark, fatalistic yet resolute warriors, had been impressed by Erkan’s actions in the Shrine so long ago, and had gifted him with one of their personal lasguns. His hand traced its way along the dark wood stock, finding an easy grip in the balanced, minimalist rifle. As he pulled an overcharge pack from the rifle’s sling and slapped it into the receiver, he began one of countless prayers ingrained in his memory.
” Before the swollen gaze of the Dark Eye, do I stand
I hold for He who long ago sacrificed for man
I will yield no ground, I shall take no step back
In His name and for His will, I will never surrender”
He turned another corner and found himself immediately erupting into the massive square. The pitched conflict before him was immense, with multiple points of contact, and diving for cover, he took a minute to take stock of his options. A sharp pain struck his heart as he realized the top of the cathedral had collapsed into the square – it made sense, for the cathedral was a physical manifestation of the Emperor’s might, and so the forces of chaos would target it first. He could go to support the defenders there, but, he was on the opposite end of the square. Both the Arbites Precinct, as well as the seat of the Mechanicus cult were closer. Civilians flooded in all directions, there was too much going on to try and unify them in a single retreat. And while he accepted their knowledge of the tools of the Emperor, Ecclesiarchy and Cult Mechanicus had little love for one another. Looking back to the Arbites Fortress, he noticed a cluster of mixed yet armed individuals on the steps amidst the automated defense systems and uniformed arbites. In that group were faces he recognized, other agents of the Inquisitor. So his destination was set, and swiftly, with the attention and tactics of one raised by the Drill Abbots of the Schola Progenium, he made his way to the Precinct Fortress.
Those gathered on the steps of the Arbite Precinct may have been surprised as the black robed figure came around the barricade, and one even drew down on him, but stopped upon seeing the wrought-iron Aquila hanging from his neck. Lasgun in hand, he took up a firing position at the barricade, calling down the line. ”Corporal Laetus, seems that your leave while we engaged in reconnaissance has come to an end, eh?”
Looking to the others he sees veteran faces, yet Erkan knows the strength of knowledge can empower them further, and identifies himself in a stern, steely voice. ”I am Brother Erkan Vaughan, Banisher Novice, tasked by the Ecclesiarchy to serve the Ordo Malleus. Stand without fear, children of the Emperor, for the righteous shall rule this day.”
The arbite glanced over at the newcomer. Ordo Malleus? Was that some branch of the Ecclesiarchy? No matter. So long as he was fighting that’s all what mattered.
”We will only rule this day if you move, shoot, kill. Now come. While we have the bastards held by our line, let’s get a good firing position.”
Moving towards the Arbites Precinct, the area clears quickly of civilians as they pour to perceived safety, although the screams and gunfire from the direction may haunt your dreams. Behind you, the gunfire at the Cathedral cuts off with a deep thud as explosives detonate and chunk of the facade is dropped to block the doors, although how long such a barricade will take to break with the weapons on those ships is debatable. At the Mecahnicus Shrie the doors begin to swing shut, the Skitati on its steps holding in a thin line of bright red and gleaming metal to give the great doors time to be sealed.
At the Arbites Precinct the heavy, fortified building growls its defiance at the freakish invaders. Arbitrators in there black armour and sheilds block the entrance, a Judge in fully glory barking commands, as the enemy marches into range of there shotguns and feels the Emperor's wrath in the form of heavy shot.
The problem is quickly made apparent in the form of a humming gunship, its engines making the drone of a thousand flies, strafing the group with its heavier fire power. Each time shields short and Arbites drop. Already the fortress' own defences are damaged, the obvious targets of the first strike, and what few are left are struggling to pick off the fast moving craft.
An assault on the troops on the stairs could break the attack, giving the Abitrators time to withdraw indoors, but wouldleave your backs to the gunship. Or simply distracting the gunship for a few moments would be enough to let the Precinct target it, but would mean drawing its wrath upon yourselves. Either or both could work...
At a glance Praetus assesses the men around him and comes to a dicision.
Soldier, may I have one of those Grenades?
He points to the bulging pouches on Lothar but holds Eye contact.
With a prayer to the emperor, Anaerious went down to one knee. He aimed his autogun at the gunship, looking to shoot the window. He didn’t know if his round had any chance of penetrating, or even if he could make the shot. But if he could hit it, it would (best case scenario) wound the pilot. Worst case scenario, it might prove a momentary distraction.
"I have only two krak, let's place the shots well and throw together. The frag will do nothing to a military grade vehicle. Pull the pin when I say and throw when I give the signal." He hands Praetus a grenade ans starts eyeing up the shot.
Lug salutes his Inquisitor as he is addressed, then turns to the matter at hand. Seeing Anaerious sight up the gunship, Lug decides to focus his fire upon it too. He drops to one knee and fires at it.
Heironymous, knowing full well that his lascarbine has no chance of penetrating the hide of the gunship - heretical and corrupted machine spirit not-withstanding - opens fire on the nearest traitor from cover.
"By the Emperor, you shall suffer for your transgressions!"
Praetus tosses the grenade between his Hans a few times to get a feel for the weight and balance, then tries to predict where the gunship will be nearest.
Vasyl hears out the newcomers' stirring words, nodding along.
Ordo? Sounds official, and some of these are in on it? I'll stick to my plan. Make myself useful, or look useful, and get out when they get out. Or run if they get themselves killed.
Seeing the fracas in front of the biter station, he swiftly seeks an angle of attack.
My aim is nothing special. Suppressive fire didn't work on those freaks back at the cathedral. But these frackheads aren't the same calibre. Let's try them out for size.
Vasyl moves smoothly into cover and begins firing bursts intended to disrupt the right flank of the attacker's advance, leaving them vulnerable to the attacks of his allies and the biters. His Armageddon barks.
Two Arbitrators fell to the enemies fire, but five of the heretics fell in a spray of shotgun shell and smoke. Unfortunately, the problem they faced became apparent as reinforcements arrived with four new heretics slumping into view, autoguns in hand.
The three enemies affected by Vasyl's blast moved for cover, but not with great speed. It didn't seem they were capable of much by way of speed.
Hieronymous' shot goes wide, but Aenarius shot hit something where the cockpit might have been. Certain there were some kind of sensors there, and sparks flew. Lug's shots hit the side, scoring the...material it was made of. Between the two the vehicle made a strange, vicious noise. It hung in the air, undecided.
Buoyed by his first hit on the gunship, Lug switches to full-auto and continues to concentrate his fire on the gunship.
Praetus takes aim at the Gunship, heading the Guardsman's advance
Vasyl empties the remainder of his clip at the nearest enemy, pleased that he disrupted them. And that they're slow.
He may yet get a clear run inside.
The attacks drew the attention of the Traitors surrounding the Arbites. Several were hit as they turned, although if they noticed they wounds they took no special notice. Eventually they would fall, but for now it didn't seem to matter too much.
Still, several autoguns chattered in your direction.
-
Poorly armed and apparently poor shots, the bullets whistled past or thudded into everyone but Aenarius. Still, the autoguns had used full bursts earlier on the exposed Arbites - and continued to with the ones still attacking the precint. Perhaps they assumed you were civilains and not worth the ammo...for now.
The gunship shrikes as Lug's burst drilled into the middle section of the craft, chips of carapace flying and a strange black-ish green fluid leaking. It swung around in a cumbersome motion, bring its own weaponry to focus on your group.
The chattering burst chewed into Lug's cover, but thankfully stopped short of anything that was exposed.
Two more Arbitrators fell, while only a single cultist fell to shotgun fire. Two more Traitors ventured into the area, these ones in positions to shoot behind your cover.
4 degrees of success. So 4 hits from scatter and 2 from semi auto
Anaerius stumbled backwards as the round him him. If not for his flak armor he might well have killed him. As is, it still made him fall to the ground. Unslinging his shotgun, he leveled it at the traitor, who was right up on him. Pulling the trigger he felt the familiar kickback...and the spray of gore which meant that the emperor’s will was being done.
"Reloading!"
Vasyl does not continue to look out from his stony cover while he reloads his Armageddon.
Erkan stays low against his barrier as the firefight evolves around him. He barely notices the autogun round cast stone fragments up at him as it hits his cover, while the loud boom of a krak grenade and the lone arbite's autofire pound the demonic craft flying overhead.
Drawing his attention back to the cultist before him, he flicks the fire selector to burst, exhales, then smoothly pulls the trigger of his lasgun, letting off a dangerous burst.
"Now!" Lothar pulls the pin and hurls the krak grenade at the enemy flyer. If it turned to unleash it's wrath on them he only hoped the arbites could bring their more potent weapons to bare against it's weak rear armour.
Moments after Lothar yells Praetus throws his grenade. He does not even watch to see if it hits before drawing his sword and preparing to charge.
Pen6
The traitor Aenerius fired upon was reduced to something significantly deader in a torrent on shotgun blasts. Whatever armour the traitor wore did not do enough to save it as its head exploded last.
Hieronymous opened fire again with a cry of, "In nominea dei Deus Machina!"
Lug opened up once again on the Gunship, keeping it's attention focused on him.
The shot took it in the censors, and moments later two grenades detonated with thunderous force. The thing screamed - a worryingly organic sound - as its engines strained to take it up, but smoke billowed from the damaged horror and even more small arms fire poured into it. It struggled, fluids dripping, and attempted to flee.
The Lascannon mounted on the Arbites fortress was waiting. A lance of clear, bright energy seared through the cockpit of the crippled craft with surgical precision and the craft...stopped. For a moment it hung in the air as the gravefly hum of its engines died, and then it slid to the side, dead and out of control...and on to its own troops.
Seeing their assault craft crash and kill more of there troops the ones at the edge began to flee, albeit in the same, unhurried way as everything else they do. That left a handful of traitors immediately outside the fortress...and a lot of angry Arbites.
The fight did not last long.
With the traitors dead the Judge marched to the front of the steps, gilded armour of shining black covered in dust and dents. "Citizens!" his vox-amplified voice called out. "We thank you for your service. Identify yourselves and be welcomed in this, a house of the Emperor's Eternal Justice."
With the crash and the Judge's offer, Vasyl smoothly steps out from behind his smoking cover. Pulling down his respirator to be heard and seen more easily, he replies:
"Vasyl Zima, and I am ready to fight!"
Maybe I can pick up a weapon or two from our likely hosts.
Heironymous calls out as he steps out of cover towards the Arbites, hugging the wall just in case. "I am Heironymous Bahrenfahrer, here to offer you the assistance of the Mechanicus in this time of need. Be sure that you are grateful."