All breaths on the command deck of the starfort were unconsciously held for what slowly became an agonizing test of endurance. Finally, a reply transmission was received. Leal only let his breath go once he had confirmed what he was sure he had heard, an acceptance of assistance. The Space Wolves were locked in battle against chaos forces, cultists of course, but likely also demons. From what the naval captain had said, they seemed assured of an eventual victory. The Aristov's men however, Imperial Guard and mortal, were struggling, which meant they were dying. There was also the threat of the forgemoon itself being blown up in a kind of self-exterminatus initiated by the Magos in charge. Leal had to consider the real possibility that any Relictors he sent to the surface may end up being lost forever, and that mattered when you had 100 brothers alone to choose from. 

It was instinctive really, but Leal knew in an instant that he could give Captain Aristov and the Wolf Lord Tryfingr his complete trust. Without first consulting anyone else, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He had all the reason he needed to get his men down to the moon's surface where they could fight the enemy, prevent the moon's detonation, and attempt to preserve the adeptus mechanicus from suffering any more collateral damage potentially incurred by the Space Wolves. He responded back, "Transmission received Captain Aristov. We are sending our gunships to the coordinates of your men. By the light of the Emperor, the Amalthus moon will not be lost." Leal remembered his sworn loyalty to the new emperor and his secret pact with Alexius vividly.

The next few moments involved the chapter master delegating command of the Starfort and the few Relictors that were required to remain aboard to preserve the chapter in the event that the moon was detonated and to of course guard the few known relics therein. The secret of the Diamedes artifact would at least be kept by the Ordo Chronos should the worst come to pass. Updates were relayed to [i]Saint's Chariot[/i] on the spur of the moment. 

"I'm going down there. Garwyn, you're with me." Leal and his first strode purposefully toward the readied thunderhawks. 

----

92 of the Relictors' brothers descended in a steep dive toward forgemoon Amalthus. The two gunships gleemed brightly as their hot metal hulls cut through polluted air in attack protocol, only finally leveling out at the last possible moment before they would have crashed nose-first into the surface. Fires burned and smoke obscured the purveyors of gunfire from each other across a wasteland battlefield littered with strewn wreckage. White skulls grinned all the wider on the paudrons of the Relictors as they poured forth form their ships, the first bolters already going off no sooner than the warriors feet hit the ground. It was as if their rage at having been pent up and denied glory for so long had been explosively released upon the forgemoon, so eagerly did the dark grey warriors actively engage the enemy. Hate and glee mixed together in a satisfying meal for the soul for the Relictors space marines. 

But their souls were not the only ones feasting. Demonic, possessed bolter and blade were unleashed upon the enemy with equal alacrity, literally harvesting the souls of their hewn victims. Chaos worshippers, mutant juggernauts, and the occasional unseen demon found themselves taken by surprise against the Relictors' advance. The rounds fired from a daemonic bolter curved weirdly mid-air as they bent their paths around corners to seek their targets. A daemonic axe glowed with a foreign green light as it whisked the essence out of its taget's wounds. The viciousness of chaos in battle was terrifying to behold, even when used against itself. 

The pressing incursionists began to find their progress halted as the heavily armored reinforcements to the entrenched Imperial guard joined the field. The merely human fighters looked up only to see shadows of bulky astartes forms advancing beside them, dimming the flashes of lasfire that seared the clouds over their heads. Hope began to flicker and tease their hearts. 

Somewhere about sector I-z1355, a different kind of light emminated. It was white, yet off-blue, and cold, like logic. Lattore fought alongside Garwyn who bore no such chaotic taint upon his weapons, having left at least one specimen aboard the orbiting starfort for preservation. The two were taking on another front against the lesser demons and cultists, equating to an army by themselves. Helmet vox links kept them connected with their miniscule chapter. They were the closest to the site of the advancing Space Wolves. 

Leal fought like a disconnected machine. Conserving ammo, he fought primarily with the angellic powersword whos bright flashes blinded enemy fighters. Warp magic melted in its presence and with it, he could even parry bullets. Now in battle, he was no longer himself alone, but a willing servant of his weapon, the two acting together seemlessly. Garwyn watched his back. So far, they had no run into anything that could stop them.