+THOUGHT FOR THE DAY+
There was a great light, and all around was the beauty of the Emperor.
You didn't deign to reply. Your eyes scanned what would soon become a battlefield - you're earlier count placed their numbers near a hundred, now you counted eighty-four visible foes, their smug spokesman included.
They had numbers, true, but they had handicapped themselves by trying to overwhelm you with a show of force. They weren't in firing position, only a few were in cover, and they were packed tightly. Whoever they were, they were used to others cowering in fear of their power.
But you? You knew no fear.
You whispered in the private vox. "Brothers, Kohl. Fire on his signal."
"Sir?"
"You heard me." You continued whispering orders and plans throughout the silent standoff.
The scarred soldier stepped forward, raised his plasma pistol. "This is your last chance, Templar."
"And this," you replied, raising your bolt pistol, "is yours."
The man gave an ugly smile. "Open fire."
And at his signal, your brothers and Kohl's men did just that. As planned, your and your brothers charged into the press of carapace armored enemies, your superhuman speed sending men flying. Kohl and his men poured their shotgun fire into the mass of bodies, diving behind what little cover presented itself.
Two men leaped on your arms, struggling to wrap themselves around you and knock one of your weapons off. Another saw his opportunity, aimed his hellgun at your exposed head. You swung one of your arms, the man hanging from it screaming as las burned through his armor.
You heard a loud crunch, turned to see Gottfried crush a man in his elbows, and with a swing of his other hand cave in another's face. Nimrod's chainsword roared amid the din, the whirring of teeth only quieting when it bit into flesh.
Las from the hellguns sizzled through the air, suffusing the already-polluted sky with the burning scent of las. There was little cover on the dock, being a flat deck meant to allow atmospheric craft to land and take-off, so you made your own cover.
Charging into the mass of bodies meant you had surrounded yourself in bodies, bodies that their comrades were reluctant to shoot at. Twenty seconds into the firefight, thirty foes had been eliminated. The bionic replacements you and your brothers had received were proving more than adequate; they supplemented the Astartes physique supremely.
Kohl's men fell one by one, but not without taking their share of the enemy with them. The last you heard of Kohl was him grunting over the vox, but the swarm of enemies around you denied visual confirmation. Forty-five enemies down, and whenever close-combat threatened to end, you and your brothers leaped into the next press of adversaries.
Emmerich grunted as lasfire cut a gash across his cheek. He returned the favor with his chainsword, eviscerating an enemy's face entirely. Fifty-five down.
Something burned. You looked down to see a sizzling hole in your side, plasma melting ceramite and flesh alike. The scarred man with the plasma pistol aimed for another shot. You charged, bellowing.
You landed a solid punch at his face with your bionic arm; at full speed it was a blow that would have devastated a pillar. It had crushed his cheek and jaw, well enough to reveal the plasteel and adamantine beneath synth-skin.
The augmetic man returned a punch of his own, and to his credit it hurt. His blow landed where the plasma had melted your armor. He smiled with what little face he had left.
His smile vanished as you introduced your chainsword to his body. The man roared in a distorted voice, whatever damaged implant replacing his voice-box tried to replicate cries of pain. You grabbed him by the neck, his disconnected legs falling uselessly. You threw his upper half on the deck.
You raised your chainsword for the felling blow.
"Sigismund, stop." It came from the squad vox. It wasn't one of your brothers.
"Who is this? How did-"
"Return to Sigismund's Fury. This is my command."
"Marshal? How-"
"Return. Now."
---
Marshal Reginherus' face was inscrutable, his eyes distant but his gaze far-seeing. He was resplendent in his power armor, bedecked in icons and heraldry, and the fact that he wore this instead of the habits that Astartes wear in their fortress-monasteries meant something was afoot.
You and your brothers, on the other hand, still wore your armor, bloodied and battered and blasted with scorch-marks. You knelt before your marshal.
Two figures took their place to either side of him. One of them was Anastasia Anatoly, now wearing the finery of a proper rogue trader. Her opposite was a towering man in a simple red robe. He must have been incredibly, unnaturally tall for a mortal, seeing as he stood head to head with the power armored marshal.
"Explain yourselves," the marshal said softly, but his tone was anything but soft.
"Brother-marshal," Emmerich began, "with your blessing Anastasia Anatoly had asked us to reclaim the void docks. We encountered resistance."
"Not much of one," Anastasia said with a wry smirk. The hooded man turned to her, peering past Reginherus who kept his eyes on his neophytes.
"And do you know who it was who resisted?"
"The foes of Man are many," you recited. "It is our place to fight, whoever it might be."
"Admirable, but you charge too eagerly, Sigismund. War will temper you soon enough." The marshal stepped forward, bade you rise. "The man to my right has no reason to explain himself, but he volunteered out of good will."
The man unhooded himself, revealing a face so nondescript it was ironically memorable, and so paradoxically mundane for a body so inhumanly tall. "I am Agamemnon, a member of His Holy Inquisition."
"A member?" Anastasia scoffed.
The man gave a small smile. "I am an inquisitor, one with the misfortune of locking horns with the Adeptus Astartes, and I would like to apologize for my men's actions."
"The scarred man," you asked, "he worked for you?"
"Yes, Ajax. Ever the loyal attack-dog. I admit I am at fault, not leashing him properly. At first, he and his men believed you to be traitor Astartes, and by the time it was revealed you were loyal Templars," he shrugged, "they were hungry for blood."
"You could have stepped in. Their deaths were avoidable."
Agamemnon inclined his head. "Of course they were. You're not blameless yourself, young Sigismund. My man, Ajax, offered you to leave."
"His offer came with nearly a hundred guns pointed at us. Black Templars don't respond kindly to threats."
The tall man smiled, eyes utterly without warmth, and turned to leave. "Neither does the Inquisition."
"Leaving so soon?" asked Anastasia Anatoly. "I haven't given my apologies. It's such a shame you've lost all your men. Who would have thought we'd cross paths like this?"
"Goodbye, Lady Anastasia. My condolences for your father."
You noticed the rogue trader clench her fist. Agamemnon put up his hood and disappeared from the room.
"Anastasia Anatoly, you are here with my blessing. You proclaimed yourself a friend to the Black Templars, offered your ship in service," the Marshal turned to you. "And saved my young brothers. But never, never think that we are pieces in whatever game you're playing."
"I requested a force to aid in retaking the void docks, and you gave your blessing. And that's what your brave neophytes accomplished!"
"Do not take me for a fool, mortal girl. This is your first and only warning. Do not dishonor us with more lies."
---
You confronted Anastasia Anatoly alone. You stared down at the human with burning eyes.
"When you saved me, was it because you felt indebted to me or because you wanted to curry my favor?"
She smiled coyly. "Yes."
"What?"
The young rogue trader ignored it. "Listen, sweet Sigismund. Your marshal was right, I will no longer dishonor you with lies."
"You placed me and my brothers at harm."
"I saw you defeat one of the Archenemy's Astartes. Agamemnon's lapdogs are chaff. Were chaff."
"You put your own men in harm's way, too."
She shrugged. "They were in good hands. One of those hands, I believe, exists thanks to me."
You grabbed her throat with your bionic hand. "I owe you nothing, human."
"But you owe humanity," she said, choking. "Whatever my vendetta is with Agamemnon, I know, I know for a fact that he doesn't care at all for mankind."
"He is an inquisitor." You let her go.
"Yes," she said, eyes teary. "I may have lied about who I pitted you against, but my intentions were true. Now, the civilians of Hierosolyma can evacuate thanks to you!"
"Where are you going with this?"
"You confronted me, remember?"
You stepped forward menacingly. "Answer, human."
She smiled innocently. "Continue helping me, continue helping the people of Hierosolyma. There are other spires where millions are still trapped. You can be their salvation."
"I can be your attack dog, you mean. I'm assuming the inquisitor has men in those other spires?"
The rogue trader giggled. "I understand now what the Marshal sees in you, sweet Sigismund. You're perceptive."
"You're deceitful."
"Will you let that stop you from accomplishing what the Emperor has tasked you? Saving the lives of His people?" She smiled a final time before leaving. "You're a good man, Sigismund."
---
[ ] Continue helping her save the humans in Hierosolyma.
[ ] Help Theobald instead at the front lines.
[ ] Help Reynauld instead with seeking out enemy leadership.
[ ] Stay on board the Fury, doing:
-[ ] Write-in.
