No sooner had Corporal Yharmov gotten off the vox did he realize something was wrong. He would never be able to tell someone what exactly was wrong, but it was just the air. It was… unsettling. Plenty of soldiers would tell you that this was just a “sixth sense” that soldiers developed in the field of battle (not in the face of most comissars howerver out of fear that they’d get shot for “warp influences”).

“Hey, Phenson, move it!” Yharmov whispered through his teeth as the private struggled to get up the stairs, “Don’t want to get caught out here, no one going to save us.”

“Yessir!” the private chirrped up only got get a shush by Yharmov.

“Just be quite dammit! Also give me your hand—“ Yharmov felt a trigger being pulled in the distance in his mind, from somewhere. He couldn’t find out where though, the darkness shrouded all sight in the split seconds he had to react. Before he knew it, Phenson’s grip loosened as he fell to the step below. Yharmov didn’t even have a chance to react properly as he was shot soon after himself, feeling the impact as one bullet punched straight into his vox caster while the other tore his foot clean off.

Unable to contain his pain, the corporal tried to muffle himself but only rolled off the edge, landing with a heafty thud. He could feel it, the blood running out of his stump, how his body was going into shock. The man continued to grip his leg with weakening hands before letting out a great howl of pain, knowing that he’d alert the enemy but hoped it was loud enough for someone back in their home territory to hear. With his vox caster gone, this was about as good as he was going to get to “communication”.

Yharmov’s mind raced as he continued to stain the carpeted stairs red, rolling around as much as he could with a bust machine on his back. Madly reciting all the Litanies of Healing and Painkilling he could remember (which honestly wasn’t all that many), he tried to come up with a plan. Going through scenario after scenario of what he could, he realized there was no way out of this. All he could do now was prevent the enemy from capturing him, the rookie was as good as dead anyways.

Pulling out two grenades, the corporal made pained gasps as he let go of his leg and stuff one in the space between his back and the vox caster before grasping the second as firm as he could over his heart. “THE EMPEROR PROTECTS!” Yharmov cried out with one last effort of zealotry before he pulled the pin on the frag grenade over his heart. In a bloody mess, the man ensured that he would not be taken prisoner and his vox not used against the loyal men and women of the Imperium as he took his place next to the Emperor in death.

Unfortunately for him, his comrade wasn’t dead. A bullet had hit his back, effectively paralyzing him from the waist down, but he only blacked out, not dying from the shot…

[hr]
Something was wrong, the Karskins knew it. They heard a scream, then someone shouting “The Emperor Protects!” before an explosion took place. A squad of four elite guardsmen mounted the back of one of the Hellhounds accompanied by an Ogryn and quickly road over to the edge of the stairs, asking for a returning pair of scouting Sentinels to help provide over watch.

With fire support at the ready and flames ready to burn, the Karskins quickly rappelled down to the first step.  They survived the area with night vision from their helmets and saw nothing, nothing beyond the lights of fire that were certainly that of the fallen 66th Vesyans as they toiled through the night. Well, their slaves and cultist followers more likely but still, more than a few were bound to be up on guard duty.

With skill and grace not found amongst the common rank and file, the elite troopers found their way to the step that carried a burnt mark and a body. Checking its pulse, they confirmed that Private Phenson was indeed still alive but most likely in no shape to return to duty. The soldiers solemnly looked at each other for a second before they picked up the body and what remains they could find of Corporal Yharmov. Phenson was to be given the Emperor’s Peace, best to let him die in peace rather than live in agony. Again, quickly making their way up the stairs, they threw the moaning body of Private Phenson into the Chimera before mounting up and heading off, the Sentinels giving one last purvey of the stairs with floodlights before following the Chimera.

Silently delivering the Emperor’s Peace to the private in the back of the Chimera, the Karskin pulled up to the cathedral, now looking a bit grander thanks to more hard work, the priests pulled the body onto and gave the deceased guardsman his final rites before they would cremate his body. Standard procedure on campaigns, not like they had anywhere to burry him.

The night continued on as the regiment burned the midnight oil, Techpriests working throughout as their fleshy counterparts rotated in sleeping shifts. Like the chaos corrupted renegades below them, the hammers and plasma cutter continued into the night with plans being drawn up for that staircase’s defense, now known as “Gate of Ascension”. It seemed that the guard planned to stay in this great house for a while as the continued to build up, their little FOB would soon be the center piece in their fortress.