[@jbeil][@Andreyich][@BCTheEntity][@Kratesis]


The battle raged through dust and ashes, bodies hitting the floor and heated shell casings littering the ramp of the Aquila Lander, the sound of the Sororitas and their vocally amplified litany of faith steeling the hearts and minds of the loyalists as they fought; little could they have foreseen what was to come, a heavy [b]'clack'[/b] resounding from somewhere in the whirling detritus as a large calibre weapon was loaded and the closed bolt pulled back.

“Everybody scatter!” Yelled Kliment to the surrounding brides of the Emperor, at least two of them laying unmoving upon the rockcrete of the platform, “heavy stubber, taker cover.”

Oh there [b]was[/b] a heavy stubber out there [i]somewhere[/i], for that was certainly what they had heard, but what came out of the irritating surroundings – amidst the scattered heat signatures, the cooling life-signs of the dead or dying, and the chattering of autoguns – was something they had not prepared for, something that blew one wing from the Lander and flung the Inquisitor through the air like a rag doll.

[i]Missile launcher,[/i] came the unbidden thought to the downed, but still fully capable, warrior of the Master of Mankind, [i]where are you?![/i]

Kliment spat out blood from a bitten tongue as he rose, stretching for the bolt-pistol that lay just out of reach while his eyes scanned the encompassing area, damage done to his person was minor but his armour had certainly taken a beating, including shards of twisted metal having shredded one arm to pieces.

He was not sure how the Sisters and the mad Confessor were, the hulking shape of the Lander visible as no more than a smouldering silhouette in the air pollution around him, but knew he had to find that missile launcher before it could finish off their transport completely.

With ragged breaths he moved through the dim 'battlefield', pulling a curved dagger from his waist and holding it in a low, reverse grip. It was no ordinary dagger, but nothing ever was when it came to the Inquisition, for it was what was known as a 'Scythian Venom Talon' – an envenomed dagger capable of killing with the barest scratch.

One man went down without a sound, the blade taking him across the neck and sending him to a swift grave, the second made more noise and even put up somewhat of a struggle before the blade lacerated his stomach into shreds of so much meat and offal.

[i]There! There was the rocket team, by the elevator shaft entranceway...now all he needed was...[/i]

Someone moved nearby, Kliment praying to the God-Emperor that it was one of his own, having ignored the larger battle taking place around him for the most part; whether it was friend or foe would matter little, and he had little time to really calculate what he was about to do, so it was that he shouted into the storm of brown particles.

“The missile launcher is [b]there[/b]! Help me eliminate those operating it.”

There were a round eight of them, each wearing the standard flak of a Guardsman, and each toting what appeared to be a Hot-shot pattern lasgun. They wore no rank insignia or markings on their grey uniforms, nothing save for a triple-helix being gripped by a skeletal figure, but they seemed determined and professional even. Therefore they had to die.