[center][h2]No Quarter Given, None Received[/h2][/center]


With all sounds of screaming extinguished unto the final breath, Brenard was satisfied his sector was clear. The sounds of gunfire elsewhere in the chateau seemed to have also died down, which likely meant his brothers had too finished their work. "Sector clear." Brenard acknowledged in a grim voice by vox as he turned to regroup at the entryway with the others. He was not the least bit surprised when Kurak ordered the purging extended to the rest of the complex. It only made sense. 

Cold unfeeling red light shone from his helm as Brenard stood close behind Kurak's World Eaters. The door broke open, shattering like the lives they took by bolter and blade. The vision that met them on the otherside was somewhat unexpected, but not at all unfamiliar. All of the astartes had the same reflex, to dodge the inevitably oncoming storm of fire. Yet the narrow hall was unforgiving, pitting the warriors between the wall and merciless arms. It was the armor and bodies of his traitor-son brethren that provided Brenard with the cover he needed to pull a grenade. He threw it forward as he dropped down with his pistol. The fire was so bright and the explosions intense at this close distance. Only his sensory modulators kept him from going blind or deaf, even briefly. 

Brenard couldn't stop himself from uttering a reflex prayer, for which he immediately kicked himself, btu there was no time to think of it. The grenade he had chucked in the general direction shredded through a dozen lives and injured at least as many, throwing the guard into disarray behind a cloud of smoke and failing ceiling tiles. To their credit, guns still blazed into the hall. The autocannon choked to a halt as its handler fell, spattering bullets into the wall in an off direction. Brenard got up. He brothers got up. The Emperor's wrath had yet to be be brought.