Ansgar snarled, slam firing grenades from his grenade launcher, in spiteful defiance to the increasing volume of fire from the traitor marines. If the Emperor demanded his life, he would not be found wanting. He would die, spiting the enemies of man, stalling them long enough for the help of his fellow Guard to arrive. He had been braced well against the pull of the warp, having often seen such things open as weapons against him and his allies. As soon as the vortex faded, he was up again, raining grenades down upon the hostile Traitor Marines. Let them come, let them come and see the absolute wrath of the Emperor's hammer. They will find themselves surrounded and drowned in the death they so crave to distribute, swamped in their own faltering and death. Thankful for the mask that hid his visage, even the look in his eyes from such a distance, or that hateful snarl would have been apparent to all who gazed upon his face. What he felt towards the Traitor marines was something beyond hate or fear. It was a loathing, for such beings, those that betrayed their oaths and plunged a unified Imperium into infighting and disorder. Perhaps it was from his experience in war, or perhaps it was from his lineage as a Krieger, but regardless, it was not a healthy level of hate.

The ever so familiar sound of weapons fire from Guard vehicles was a welcome boon indeed, watching the remaining Traitor Marines getting slaughtered by the familiar sound of superior firepower. He always appreciated the arrival of friendly tanks and armor, they brought the kind of firepower that, at best, required the kind of crew served, multiple Guardsmen approaches to manning, that their arrival via vehicle mountings were far better and preferred to crew served weapons, as vital and welcome as they often proved to be. With the smoke clearing, leaving the traitors dead, the Krieger stood up, reloading the grenade launcher, now intimately familiar, before slinging the weapon to make his way down the ladder off the roof. His movements were sure and quick, despite the fact that it was often a harrowing experience facing the traitor Marines. He had been there before, so facing them again was an oddly familiar thing. Hence his experience and surety of his orders when combat was met, and Marines confirmed as traitors, alongside tactics for fighting them.

Reaching the ground floor of the warehouse, Ansgar would unsling his hellgun, making sure it was charged from the backpack unit, started making his way towards the exit of the before stopping by the psyker. As much as he had his life made difficult by the powers of the warp, he didn't overlook how it had played a vital role in their survival here. [color=598527]"Good work out there, ma'am. Kept us alive, long enough for help to arrive. I can handle things here, if it pleases you Sister."[/color] They had all played their roles, but it had taken the vortex to slow and disrupt the Marines long enough to keep them from being overrun before help arrived from the local Guard regiments. Though he resisted the urge to, he wanted to point out and claim that he had predicted that this city was not ready for open war. It lacked any sort of serious ability to defend and retaliate against such sudden assault from all directions. He was aware of the fact that tending to psykers was not often a job of the Sisters of Battle, and often fell upon the men of the Guard, while normally Commissars, yet that duty could find itself in the hands of veteran or experienced guardsmen, handlers that could fight as hard as the psyker, often times harder if not for the powers of the warp. The lead sister's orders had sounded like a assignment of handling, so he offered an alternative, someone far more familiar with the dangers of the warp than the Sister assigned.