It had be days since Pontius had been nearly killed in the combat pens. He could hardly recall how he survived, only vague memories of Apothecary Haeron treating his wounds and the overwhelming shame of his defeat were left with him. His mind was racing with thought. “I have failed…again, I am going to be sent back to Ultramar. I am the shame of the Ultramarines.” He drifted in and out of consciousness from the sedatives administered by the Apothecary. His dreams were wrought with memories of Tarsis Ultra. Vivid, visceral scenes of the Orbital Station played out in his mind’s eye. When he was awake he poured over the pages of his Codex, mostly out of habit, hoping maybe it is in the pages of this historied tome he could glean some insight on how to proceed.

Finally the silence of his room was shattered with the sound of bulkhead door sliding on stone-face. Pontius strained to see who entered his cell, the wound in his neck only permitted the slightest shift of his head one way or another. As Chaplain Archomedes entered, the highly polished skull adorning his helmet clearly shone with the reflection of Pontius’ wounded body staring back at him. The Chaplain broke the silence that hung heavy in the air. “You have been tested, brother. The Apothecary made sure your body was pure. The Watch Captains confirmed your spirit. I am here to weigh your very soul.” His voice is light with a gentle cadence to his inflection. It was not what Pontius had expected. He’d convinced himself so surely that he was going to be sent back to his Chapter, a failure of the Watch, that he’d never even considered the alternative.

Before Archomedes could continue, Pontius met him with his own question. “Am I being sent back to Ultramar?” The Chaplain stayed silent for a few moments letting Pontius weigh his own question. Finally Archomedes replied, “That depends Brother Pontius, first tell me of your service on Tarsis Ultra.” Those thoughts still heavy in his mind he began to recount his deployments. “What of your lost squad?” Archomedes suddenly interjected in Pontius’ recounts. He paused for a moment, weighing his thoughts. Finally he began the tale, the Chaplain stayed silently the whole time, his skull mask’s expressionless stare seemed to question every detail. Pretty soon Pontius could not help but pour every detail he could into his recounting. He practically relived each visceral moment of that deployment, detailing how each of his brothers were lost, how he lost his limbs, and finally how he had been flung from the Orbital Station by the initial explosions and left to drift the void and witness the Hive Fleet descend upon the remaining forces attempting to retreat. After his tale ended it was followed by an awkwardly long pause. Yet again Pontius was the first to break the silence, “Why was I spared in the combat pens?”

Archomedes let his question hang in the air for a while before finally responding, “It is clear to me that the Emperor’s guiding hand saw fit to affect you destiny that day, just as it did the day you survived the Great Devourers endless maw. You have a higher purpose young Ultramarine, do not cloud your mind with the loss of your Brothers for we as Astartes all know that it is our ultimate duty to die in service of the Emperor. I cannot tell you why your fate has been altered so frequently, I can only tell you that the Emperor has plans for you that are not yet clear, and that Deathwatch could use an Initiate with your ability to survive.” With that comment, the Chaplain rose from Pontius’ bedside, reached into one of his satchels and hands you a black hooded robe. “It is almost time, brother. Don the black and meditate on our words. You will be summoned.” His faith and duty reaffirmed by the Chaplain’s words, Pontius changed into his new robes, ignoring any pain he previously felt, as soon as the Chaplain left and waited for his summons. 

After a while his summons came, Pontius followed the servitor into the grand hall and he took his place amongst his soon to be Brothers, his eyes caught sight of the Watch Commander, a massive bear of a man. If you could even call this giant a man, more of an Astartes monstrosity than anything. He stood and listened to his speech, feeling his pride and zeal course within his veins. Then it was Pontius’ turn to approach the recently produce pyre and swear his oath. He strode confidently between his fellow Deathwatch, knelt before the Watch Commander and Chaplain. Locking eyes with the Giant Astartes he began to swear, “By the name of the Emperor, I swear to purge all enemies of man and uphold the brotherhood of this fraternity without prejudice or ignorance. I pledge to honor all doctrines, laws and secrets; and I swear my loyalty to the Deathwatch for as long as I am needed or until fate deems my service fulfilled by death.” As if to punctuate his sentence for him the Chaplain pressed the brand to Pontius’ flesh. He hardly felt the brand, recalling the Chaplain’s words to him. “A great purpose I must serve”, he thought to himself. He rose, to join his fellow Deathwatch as equals now. Proudly returning the salute he received from his peers. 

Soon after the ceremony was finished Pontius set himself to purpose and strode through the massive doors on the far side of the room. “Time to see what they’ve done with my armor”, he thought to himself. As he entered the room he saw his set of “Heresy” pattern armor, now modified to Deathwatch standards. The once missing studs, common to the Mark 5 suit were now repaired. The black paint did well to conceal the damage it had received through its years of service, yet the blast marks of the explosion that sent him tumbling into the void still pockmarked much of its surface, the visage that once reminded him of his losses now reaffirmed his duty and zeal. The right arm and leg of the armor missing to fit his cybernetic implants. The left arm now forged in ornate runes and silver of the Deathwatch. The Techmarines of the Watch went so far as to leave the Laurels of Leadership painted on its helmet, now in silver instead of the Ultramarine standard of white. He donned his armor, proud of its apotheosis, and determined to match it with his own evolution into this new service. He let his pride coarse through him, feeling his lost squad smiling down on him from the Emperor’s side amongst the Heavens.

With his wargear stowed in its proper places, lastly he took his Cingulum from the servitors aiding him, the only piece of his former life still bearing its original colors. He strapped the knee length brown leather straps around his waist, letting the gold emblems of Ultramar that adorned the end of each strap fall and lightly clang against his armor. He was now ready to depart, and made his way to the Thunderhawk. To join his fellow Deathwatch and begin his Vigil. Strapping himself in amongst what he could only assume were his new squadmates, he remained quiet and listened to them batter amongst themselves, waiting for takeoff.