One must not fall into the trapping of the false prophets because they are deceivers and blasphemers. Being free of thought will keep these false ideals out of the faithfuls heads. Because when one falls all will fall shortly. -Banishment of thought by Church of the Divine Light High Priest Marthain
Strike Cruiser Dorn's Sword
Pontius strode into the training room, wearing a simple tunic with the chapter icon on the right breast. Oftentimes, he and his brothers would use this room not only to train but also to hone their minds for the wars and battles to come. However, Pontius was not looking for training; he was searching for something he wasn’t quite sure of. Pontius observed five training servitors, each in various states of use. The slack-jawed, once-chapter servitors were used to train the marines in all forms of combat. Some lacked hands, replaced instead with blades or las rifles to test the marine's ability to deal with multiple targets at once. In another corner, rows of weapon racks stood with all of the available weaponry the Imperium could muster—from standard bolt weapons to melta guns, power blades to two-handed chainswords—all in pristine condition, ready for war and to serve the Imperium.
In the middle of the training room, there was a large octagonal cage filled with sand. This served for one-on-one sparring sessions or honor bouts—a long tradition from when the chapter was part of the Imperial Fists during the Great Crusade over 10,000 years ago. The sand was meant to make it harder for combatants to gain good footing, making movement in the ring more difficult. It also served as a way to ensure that neither warrior would have an advantage.
Sitting in the middle of the pit, Agrippa was poised with his legs underneath him, both hands resting on his thighs, palms up, and his head down. His massive bulk was exposed, showing all the scars and socket ports necessary for his power armor. He looked like a statue, though only Pontius' superhuman senses could tell that Agrippa was still breathing. It was clear that Agrippa had come here after the briefing to clear his mind and regain focus on the mission ahead—a trait Pontius didn’t quite understand. To him, one must move on and maintain focus at all times in order to process and understand things without having to meditate to regain it. It was one of the things Agrippa always pointed out as one of Pontius’ shortcomings as a potential leader.
"A warrior of the Imperium must strive to find a moment to regain his composure," Agrippa would say. "For if he does not, he is merely controlled by rage and revenge. Without a clear and focused mind, we will not fulfill our greater goal."
Agrippa repeated this sentiment every time the discussion came up.
Striding over to Agrippa, Pontius thought over the conversation he was about to have with his leader. He needed to make amends for what he had said. It was not right for the second-in-command to speak out so brazenly. Standing about half a meter away, Pontius stopped and waited for Agrippa to acknowledge his presence, not wishing to interrupt. With a slight look up, Agrippa spoke.
"Brother Pontius, how can I help you?" His voice was almost imperceptible, like distant thunderstorm rolling across the land.
"Veteran Sergeant, I am not sure... Something within me compelled me to search for you to discuss what has transpired." Pontius paused for breath and clenched his fists. "I still stand by the belief that we should not waste our forces on matters beneath us. The Cadians have this world under control, and while we waste our time here, we could be helping rebuild the chapter and begin taking revenge on the Black Legion and the greenskins. Again, I mean no insult, but—"
Before he could finish, Agrippa stood up, his eyes locking onto Pontius as if he were a mere chapter servitor. After a long pause, Agrippa walked over to the edge of the cage. With a cloth, he wiped his face, finally addressing his subordinate once he was done.
"You were not able to be on Rynn's World, were you, brother?"
"No, brother. I was not able to get to Rynn's World in time. I only returned with the relief force to take back the world," Pontius said, still standing where he was, wondering where the conversation was headed.
"I was on Rynn's World, brother," Agrippa said, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "I saw what became of us, what we had to do to survive. I was there when the chapter was almost disbanded because we lost so much. But you were only there to welcome Lord Gilimand when he delivered us from destruction." The way Agrippa said this sounded almost like a schoolteacher recounting an event he'd already told a thousand times. Pontius opened his mouth to defend himself, but Agrippa continued, slowly walking towards him.
"Brother Pontius, I understand your point of view. However, I do not stand for open defiance against my orders or direction within the chapter. You do not understand the larger picture of what is going on." Agrippa paused, searching for the right words. "The chapter must reestablish itself as a force in the Imperium to prove that we are still warriors of the Emperor and carriers of Dorn's legacy. We must forge a new legacy, one that surpasses our failings. You want to prove yourself, Brother Pontius? Prove yourself on the field of battle." Agrippa's eyes were like fire as he continued, now only feet away from Pontius. "You must look at the bigger picture and beyond where your blade and bolter can reach."
With that, Agrippa turned and strode out of the cage, grabbing his robes and throwing them on.
Pontius searched for words but found none to break the silence. In a sudden realization, he was left alone in the chamber. With a long exhale, Pontius looked around the room, trying to find something to ground him. I must not let this chip at my resolve. I must not let this feeling ruin me. But all Pontius had known was honor, and when the chapter needed him the most, he had been unable to answer the call. He felt his soul tugging at him, warning that being away from his home now would mean a thousand terrible things would happen. With a force of will, Pontius pushed those thoughts down inside. With sudden clarity, Pontius sat down, taking the same position Agrippa had taken. With a sigh, Pontius sat in the cage, seeking guidance.
Unknown
Fara was floating in the empty void. The space around her was nothing but inky blackness, with what seemed like black arms gripping her arms and legs. She was there, floating. Am I dead? Has the Emperor judged me as just? Looking down to assess herself, she noticed her right leg was missing below the knee. Panic set in as she felt around to check for any further damage. Luckily, it seemed that only her lower leg was gone. Hanging in the void, it almost felt like she was in thick water or suspended in the air like a gravestone.
After a moment, Fara noticed a distant "thunk-thunk" growing louder and louder. Trying to look around, she searched for the source. After scanning the void, she noticed it was coming from below her. Looking down, she saw a green light glowing, rapidly approaching. Struggling to move, she swam with her arms, hoping to escape. Fek, fek! I am not in the Emperor's light; this must be damnation. I must be in the warp, being consumed by something. The green light grew larger, and the sound became deafening.
Suddenly, she saw a birdlike creature in the green light. Its wings caused it to move upward. Fara’s heart raced. What will I do? Is this how I will be consumed by the dark gods? Her life flashed before her eyes with each "thunk."
Thunk—Fara was ten years old, learning fieldcraft. She had just killed something for food, skinning it with a small knife.
Thunk—Fara was fifteen, learning how to shoot while under fire. The wind whipped her poncho around as las fire lit up the storm-covered firing range, with a drill instructor yelling at her for missing targets or not being accurate enough.
Thunk—Fara was a White Shield fighting on Cadia, covered in blood and mud. She was in the middle of stabbing a cultist in the chest with a bayonet. As she slammed the blade in, she fired her las rifle into its chest. With its dying breath, it whispered, "Beware of the hawk. It will consume all the unclean and followers of the false god."
Thunk—With a flash, Fara opened her eyes. The green light almost blinded her, sending a tingling sensation through her body. It felt wrong. Opening her eyes, she was shaken to her core by what she saw.
In the blackness, the hawk was there. Its wings were now half-decayed and dissolved, dripping fat, blood, and feathers. Its chest was exposed, revealing the terrifying insides of its form. Its claws were jagged and broken, meant to cut flesh and rip the soul from its prey. Where its eyes had once been, now there were beams of yellow light. Its beak was half-broken, its mouth wide open, letting out a world-shattering cry as it moved in for the attack.
Medicaid Tent Omega 2340-a, Hive Sheol
Fara opened her eyes, panic flooding through her as white light surrounded her. Where am I? What is happening? She had to kill the hawk. The hawk must die! Looking around, the events of the last few hours slowly came back to her. She was covered in cold sweat and stank of old clothes. She needed a bath.
With a start, Fara realized she was in a medicaid tent on a cot. The room was small, with twelve beds, each occupied by a trooper in varying states of medical need. A medic noticed that she had woken up, took a clipboard from the edge of the cot, and clicked his tongue as he flipped through the pages, making some signatures. He looked at Fara and said, “Well, you’re awake, Corporal Fara, thank the Throne. How are you feeling?”
With dry lips, Fara shifted to a more comfortable position. The sound of a motor made her stop and look down. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw her right leg—where once there was a leg, now there was only a metal limb from the knee down.
"Ah, I guess we can skip the formalities, since you can see the results. You were left in that bunker." The medic, whose name tag identified him as Lawson, said. "Your leg was the only thing left after an explosion cooked off all the bolt rounds still in the bunker. Sad to say, your entire squad was wiped out. You're lucky it was only your leg."
Lawson continued, "Your company is no longer combat-effective. Some sergeant will pick you up shortly."
After placing the clipboard back, Lawson left to attend to the other troopers. Fara lay there stunned, running her hands through her short-cropped hair and breathing slowly. She replayed the events of the last few hours in her mind, trying to make sense of what had happened—and then the hawk. What was that hawk? Her head ached as she tried to recall that memory. It felt as if something were compressing her brain. She would need to cleanse herself when she got out of here.
Looking closer at her new leg, she noticed it was a standard issue Cadian augment. Moving it around felt weird—not natural.
About an hour later, Fara heard commotion coming from the entrance. Suddenly, a large man entered. He wore a tank crewman’s jacket, rolled up to expose tattoos, and his hands were wrapped with purity seals. His head was covered by a patrol cap in the kasrki camo. His violet eyes locked onto Fara’s as he strode toward her.
As he approached, Fara noticed he had two augmented legs. Stopping in front of her, the sergeant tipped his hat back and introduced himself.
"Well, good morning, Corporal. My name is Sergeant Hallaway, and I need your help."
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