Zethidis was silent and still in the deep shadows, keeping a keen eye on his alien surroundings with his rifle aimed down the passage which the cowardly cultists fled down. His finger twitched slightly as his blood began to slow its flow, and his nerves fell quiet. Reaching back to grip his servo, he heard the Chaplain exclaim a witches presence and spun on his heavy heels to see no such thing – lifting his head his eyes reached the helm of the exclaimer with his stormbolter raised.

Lowering his rifle, Zethidis stood patiently as his apparent brother blatantly threatened him, daring to question his loyalty. Once the unwelcome outburst washed over Skullcavus, he began to climb up the rubble left by the explosion that had formed the gaping wound in the floor.

As his armor was heaved slowly further up the small mound, with his body within it, his onward march was halted suddenly as Deimos stepped between himself and the offender. Her words were a welcome contrast to those of the Chaplain, and it seemed an investment of trust would be suitable for this Brother.

However, Zethidis would not let such an ill-mannered  speech go unanswered for, and so heaved himself back onto the level of his Brothers and rested a hand on Deimos' shoulder, his faceless helm looking into hers as the last of the heretics blood fizzled and steamed away from his black metallic shell. His voice broke against the silence as a wave breaks against a beach, and if any emotion was heard at all, it was great anger held back by a patient calm [b]“Thank you... I will however... Face the chaplain, if you will...”[/b].

Once finished Zethidis exerted the smallest of forces on Deimos and pushed past her. Facing the Chaplain, Zethidis let his rifle rest with a shrieked thud on the metal of the floor, his stormbolter also falling to the floor. 

[b]“Mercy?”[/b] His voice scratched the comms with its sharp talons. [b]“ I am yet to feel such luxury, Chaplain.” [/b]His hand slowly lifted, and rest on the stormbolter that was pointed at him. [b]“I have never felt the kind mercy of a stormbolter... Nor that of a  Crozius Arcanum.” [/b]He skull hissed from its home on the back of his armor and hovered by him now, its empty eyes staring at the side of his helm.

[b]“No...The only mercy I have ever felt is that of which you speak... The mercy of the Emperor.” [/b]The skull began to move around his helm slowly, the many locks and seals being broken. Zethidis stood silently for a moment as the job was finished and the raised his hands to his helm. [b]“ In my chapter, some call me Skullcavus.” [/b]Lifting his helm away, his horrific face and its grotesque features were revealed.

The lower left jaw shines a bright white as the blood stained bone was exposed, surrounding the gap in his flesh, many small metal plates have been drilled and melded into his face to stop the flesh from ripping. His left eye has been replaced by an optical substitute, although it is not an exact fit, as the cavernous dark in the shallow of his eye can still be seen around the soft red light. His teeth are metallic and his lips drip with an almost black but red blood. A cough escapes him, though his face seems not to shift or change, but a small stream of blood surges from the depths of his throat and trickles between his teeth.

Though these wounds are not abnormal, the unnerving features are what is left. His entire face, from chin to crown consists of small patches, stitches still visible, each a different shade and complexion. From his right cheekbone to the tip of the same ear, covering both his eye and forehead the skin is a mix of violent and raw reds to deep scorched earth black.

[b]“Neither I nor my Legionnaire Brothers were shown mercy, Chaplain. Khorne and his followers know no such word. We stood, upon the very bones of our fallen brethren as the Daemons came in waves. Falling to our united might they were vanquished and burnt.[/b]” A droplet of blood streams from behind Zethidis' optical eye and down his face and over the white of his jaw. [b]“ Then a great rumbling following... And we were met with such hatred... The Black Legion banner crested the hills... and so the Legion of the Damned... The chapter you dare scorn!” [/b]Spittle and blood rush from Zethidis' lips as his rage grows.[b] “We raised our own banner and fought with equal hate and MERCY was not shown on that day.”
[/b]
[b]“My squad killed from afar... our retribution cut down our foes... then a soft crackling from behind our line... A chaos sorcerer appeared from nowhere.”[/b] Zethidis' tone and voice cracks like a whip now, he speaks fast and aggressively – these memories are far from comforting.

[b]“I was the first to fall to this abomination, a fiery ball struck my helm and sent me flying from my position into an adjacent wall of the broken building we were in, the fire continued to burn, and its thirst was only quenched when it had fed on my flesh.” [/b]Zethidis now points to the burnt right of his face, his eyes never leaving the helm of the Chaplain. [b]“ My Brothers fell subsequently, all 8 of them to this single and powerful enemy. The monster turned to me, levitating and dropping each of their corpses before me... He walked slowly along their bodies, each step was upon their skulls and each skull cracked and collapsed to his boot.”
[/b]
Zethidis pauses for a moment and picks up the rifle from the floor. [b]“Brother Vuldie.”[/b] Pausing once more he reaches to the stormbolter and yet another blood droplet runs from his face. [b]“Brother Prast.” [/b]. Zethidis lay the weapons down gently and his skull began to circle his head once more. [b]“When finally he had finished his fun I lay there half conscious, and watched like a helpless spectator as his blade and hand ripped what remained of my flesh from my face, leaving the burnt section clinging to my skull.”
[/b]
[b]“When I awoke... I was lay there still... My brothers around me numbered few but we had claimed a bitter victory. When we returned to our ships I was fixed up. They had salvaged what remained up my Brothers, and now I carry them with me, stitched into my own identity. They are a part of me. I refused any other replacement other than my one eye, the other stays but is of little use after being burnt.”

[/b]
Zethidis speaks slowly now, he has calmed at the thought of his fallen brothers and that they live on in him. [b]“They could not recover enough to cover the entirety of my face... The sorcerer made sure of that it seems...”[/b].

Zethidis raises his dark helm in his hand and places back where it belongs, and the skull floats around him once more. [b]“You do my Brothers and I a great disrespect to question my loyalty... The fire that burnt me has given me powers that once my enemy might have harnessed... I hold no allegiance to its origins... The Emperor gave me the strength to live on... So long as I live I will kill those that taint his name...”
[/b].

The helm hissed and with one final seal clicking into place, Zethidis grabs the skull and puts it back into its holder, he then takes his rifle and places onto his back and lifts the stormbolter from the floor. [b]“Do not speak of loyalty to me Chaplain, my loyalty is undying.” [/b]With this Zethidis turns from his Brother and walks slowly down the mound of rubble once more with echoing thuds, his guard up as well as his stormbolter as he reaches the bottom.