Stukov saw, out of the corner of his eye, one of his men, a good and stout lad, too headstrong for his own good, move in and bayonet the abomination in the back. Granted, all that did was piss it off at this rate, but as it impulsively turned to throttle and kill the offending voidsman, that bought the Voidmaster precious moments to act. Quickly loading an inferno shell and racking it home, Stukov would slam the bayonet upwards, lodging it into the neck of the Tzaangor before jerking the trigger, incinerating the beast's head in a gout of fire and shot, dropping free the grappled Voidsman as Stukov shouldered the collapsing corpse aside, rapidly reloading standard buckshot before opening fire once more, covering the voidsman who had come to his aid.

[color=lightgreen]"TO YOUR FEET, WE HAVE THE ADVANTAGE! NO DAEMONS WILL BREAK US NOW, SHOW THEM THE WRATH OF THE IMPERIUM!"[/color]

The Voidmaster reached to his belt, grabbing a concussion grenade, priming it, and hurling it towards the emerging Daemons. They still practiced Gellar Field failure drills, and often times it was simply more effective to seal off lost decks that had daemons on them until a return to realspace, Emperor willing, could be made. Failing that, explosives and heavy weapons were preferred. Frags were rare, as the fragments would do almost as much damage to ship's components as they would the enemy. But concussion grenades would maul flesh and even armored foes, as the shockwave cared not for light armor, without doing much to the ship itself. A perfect blend of completion of duties, and something to be mused on another day. Other explosions had staggered and left ears ringing, but the Voidmaster could not afford the luxury of being seen as faltering, keeping himself upright through sheer stubbornness and bracing. His men were doing exactly what was to be expected of them, and that left it to him to perform his duties. To carry on fighting, and screening his men as best he could, injuries, abominations, or daemons be damned.