Necessity brought Basilious to the forefront. All around him the battle-brother could hear his comrades unleash a withering barrage upon the unfortunate first arrivals, suppressing the gathering horde. Bolter retorts echoed across the battleground, their concussive blasts painting gruesome abstract depictions on the rustic buildings. A meaningless crimson graffiti splattered by every meeting of bolt and flesh. Their covering fire would be sufficient for now Basilious calculated, its precise and lethal rounds eliminated any man foolish enough to attempt a counter response. The occasional desperate laser would hiss past the armored warrior’s bulk, but none of his opposition received the luxury time required to properly aim, even at such an obvious target. However, the cultists were gathering. Dark shapes flitted between the out-ringing buildings, forming hastily establish units. Some, Basilious noted, lugging slightly more concerning weaponry towards the outer defensive structures. One such squadron crawled beneath the cover of a haggard makeshift bunker, six to seven in total count. Working frantically, they brought together the pieces of a heavier weapon, one far more concerning for the assaulting force. Basilious felt his dark eyebrows rise beneath his helmet visor. A lascanon? Hefting his incinerator in both hands the grey clad marine changed course, lowering his head, and sprinting across the open ground intent on eliminating the threat to his brothers before they finished establishing the base mount.

	He reached them at full pelt just before they finished screwing on the cast iron barrel. One man screamed a warning and Basilious knew some half a score of autoguns were rising to meet his challenge. Their weaponry could prove a danger, through sheer volume if nothing else but his eyes were locked on the dark-skinned man swiveling the lascanon towards the encroaching marine. The cultist blanched, he appeared half dressed and disheveled, as if he only just woken and thrown on a pair of pants before rushing out to join the fight. In hindsight, he might have been better served sleeping in. His fear got the better of him and he fired hastily, predictably. Basilious lurched to the left, the lascanon swiveled to the right, and a blaze of red energy sailed off towards space no doubt doing tremendous damage to whatever it eventually hit.

	The men panicked, some tried to run throwing down their weapons. Others fired, the rounds glancing pathetically off his heavy armor. Basilious took heed of Kallikles’ order and showed them no mercy. Bringing his weapon to bear he unleashed a flood of pure white flames across the crowd, so intense flesh melted off bone, hardwood crumbled into ash and even stone singed cherry red. A putrid scent rose into Basilious nostrils, the powerful filtration system unable to cleanse it completely from the air. Stepping over the ruined bunker he turned his vengeful attention on the houses, purging the humble residences in a deluge of holy fire. He did not spare the trigger; fuel would not be an issue as he carried more than enough spare cannisters on his person. Once he felt confident the four houses could not possibly hold any survivors he pressed deeper, reporting his movements and actions to Justiciar Kallikles through his communication systems. Being separated from the squad, even if he left a rather obvious incendiary trail of his progress could be potentially dangerous. 

	“Justiciar, the enemy heavy weapons installation has been neutralized. I am moving to reconvene.” He cut off, eyes narrowing as a second enemy unit appeared, engaging him from further down the dirt street. Fully equipped cultists dodged in and out of ramshackle structures, loosing off small bursts before taking cover again. Small arms fire ricocheted off his armor, leaving irritating marks across the burnished surface, one impacted his head leaving the young warrior’s ears ringing. He attempted to charge, but his foe proving clever in their machinations fell back, drawing him further in until it seemed their exasperating fire descended on him from every possible angle. When a rocket flew past, detonating off a wooden wall sending splinters scattering across the no man’s land Basilious decided a tactical withdraw would be in order.

	Falling back behind the burned-out wreck of his earlier attentions, Basilious slid the incinerator into its sizeable holster, drawing forth a more practical weapon for this slightly longer-range engagement. He needed to rejoin his squad, their unit organization being a decisive part in emerging victorious against this seemingly endless horde. His armor integrity surely was not holding up to regulatory standards after his unsuccessful foray. An involuntary grin spread across his face, hidden by the heavy bevor and face plate, but there none the less. Clever rats, he almost admired their tenacity in proving a challenge to him, and their cleverness in keeping him separated from the others. Killing one marine would be victory enough for them this day, even if they were wiped out to a man for their efforts. Considering the surprisingly lethal arsenal they were bringing to bear such a thing was possible, if he stayed separated from the rest of his squad that is. Basilious had no intention of shaming his Chapter however, he would not fall to cultists this day. Nor any other! “Brothers, I require assistance near the burning structures. I am suppressed and outranged, by more than a dozen heavily armed hostiles.” He reported, turning his bolt pistol on a particularly bold individual who peeked around the corner. The cultist lost his head, but more would soon arrive.