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For what felt like an age he had simply weathered the torrent of fire, squatting down in the bunker (or what had once been a whole bunker), and sheltering himself as best he could from the incoming fire of the savage enemy. Now, his armour scorched, scratched, chipped and dented by various calibres and forms of munitions, Nergüi recognised swiftly that there was only really one enemy left worth caring about, and that enemy was the huge one making his way toward them.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAGGHHH!"

His blood began to boil within him even as the firepower of the Ork, classification 'Nob', blew further sections out of the rockcrete construct all around him. This had to stop, and soon, for the White Scar – a member of the venerable Deathwatch for many years – knew one overwhelming fact about their current foe; where there was one, there would always be more before long.

Shutting his eyes for the briefest moment, he conjured in his mind the wide expanse of his homeland – the vast and almost infinite plains of Chogoris – picturing the empty space, feeling the calm breeze of the wind upon him even within his armour, and focusing on his breath. One...two...three.

“Cover me,” he told the others, already shifting toward the exit from whence they had entered, speaking loud enough for them to hear him over both gunfire and storm.

Pausing for the briefest of moments, his bolt pistol already in his hand, he looked to the – probably extremely annoyed – Celestian and gave a curt nod of his head, “you may chastise me if I return; if I should die, tell my Chapter and the Deathwatch that I died fighting the enemies of Mankind.”

Like a bullet from a bolter he sped from the bunker, the White Scar just slightly less speedy on foot than he would have been on his favoured mount, the bolt pistol rising and firing as he launched himself into the admittedly scant cover of a nearby hab-unit. Surely there was nothing thick enough here to halt even Orkoid ammunition, but that was not what he had in mind.

Silently cursing himself for leaving the missile launcher loaded and ready back in the bunker, he unclipped the frag and krak grenades from his belt and tossed them in the direction of the war buggy. A satisfying thrump could be heard, the angered yells of Greenskins not far behind, and Nergüi counted off in his head how long it would take the Nob to turn and fire when considering the state of the sodden terrain it now slogged through. He'd be a fine distraction, if nothing else.

With a sharp intake of breath, his twin hearts banging against his chest as he moved, the Apothecary raced from the ruin and straight at the war buggy; it had not been completely disabled, but his aim had been true enough, the cockpit of the vehicle in ruins and two scorched bodies now being thrown out by several more lively Greenskins.

"For the Emperor and the Khan!" Came the battle-cry of the White Scars, bullets whizzing past him and glancing from his ceramite armour with sparks, Toof Dakka-Armz unleashing another fusillade at the far more spry Astartes. It nevertheless did little to slow the Marine, few of the shots making it anywhere near him, his Reductor becoming active about his right-hand wrist as he drew his tulwar in one fluid motion.

Faster than any mortal could manage, fuelled by the very essence of his Progenitor embedded within himself, the curved blade whipped through the air so swiftly that it left a faint blue trail behind it; choppas attempted to stop its passing, green flesh carved and gored by it, overdeveloped bodies dropping into the saturated mud of the planet moments after barring his path.

The last act of the Apothecary was to throw himself behind the vehicle, waiting for the inevitable heat of a flamethrower or the ordnance of a tri-mounted dakkagun to pierce vehicle and armour. That, or for his comrades-in-arms to fell the monster while his attention was elsewhere.
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