Victor cut and slashes his way through the hall beside his battlebrothers, his shield took the blows meant for his comrades backs even as his sword cut into anything foolish enough to assail him. His pistol had run out of ammo some time ago and now hung at his hip for later when reloading the thing could be done without risk of injury to himself or the team he was trying to protect. Their progress was steady as the Mandrakes wisely retreated from the onslaught laid bare before them. Every step gained was a victory for the empire and the Deathwatch alike. 
Theirs was the call of glory few others would see.
This was why they had been chosen! 

This ship would forever mark Victors first step to a beautiful death. 

The room was swept clean and the kill-team quickly progressed through the pens until the shadowy voice promised them suffering, but like the others, all Victor heard was a dead mans plea for mercy. The squelching of his boots upon the flesh heap carpet was an obvious deal breaker.
As if the Grotesques weren't. 

Victor lunged with stormshield leading, a heavy gauntlet of toxic spray struck him full but the Marine barely budged as he braced against the weight. Like before in the other room, the jets on his pack flared to life for a brief moment to add force to his ramming shield. Unable to withstand the sudden pushback, the Grotesques arm was flung away with enough force to cause the thing to lose its balance. The powersword hewed into the side of its hideously swollen knee to drop the creature onto its back for the others to finish. 
Wordlessly, the knowledge of veterans at work, Aldaric and Sorrow, Kurt in the back putting down shot after shot into the brutes ruthlessly.

Victor alternated between slashing at the beasts joints and goading the lumbering creatures blows, catching them every time on his shield as he braced against the things weight. He would not fail and he would not fall.