Brenard struck out in front, barging into the open hall with boltpistol raised. The element of surprise had so far shielded him, and he emptied a clip, one shot for each mortal before him as he slowly advanced. Guardsmen, delegates, wives, hive lords, and whatever cult leaders all scattered for the escape routes. Low-caliber rounds pinked off his black armor harmlessly as the few brave enough to face his direction tried their luck. Brenard's instincts took them out first, their aiming at him marking them as higher priority targets in his sight. Resistance waned with the culling of the brave. 

The former Word Bearer continued, reloading automatically. 2, 3... in this room, 1 behind the overturned table. Brenard blasted him away through the wood. Screaming and cursing coming from the left, have to go check the next room... It was all fairly non-chalant. Nothing to think about here. Just killing. These traitorous heretics would die quickly, for "Shame" had come for them. This mission would be over soon, and Imperial command would be reestablished. Then, of course, there would be a next mission after this one. Brenard hoped that it would prove more difficult than simply mopping up some some unprepared planetary rulers and their stuffy entourage. This kind of easy mission was for the space marines that the Imperium wanted to keep around. Brenard deserved something more high risk, something where his likely death would serve to save another space marine to come after him, someone of more trustworthy stock. 

And so he slayed, vaguely listening to the vox calls of his brethren to be aware of their progress.