Moments of Doubt
[OBEY]
Castiel flies upon wings of gold. He flickers from moment to moment, constantly shifting position as the wrath of a world seeks to strike him from the sky. Impailer rounds and pulse shots are fired up rapidly, streams of supersonic death seeking to strike his forces down. Yet his new found power is enough to protect him, as angyls move to protect him from the wrath of the heretics.
[A Push is Incoming. Force a breach] His Creator Chedomar's voice resounds in his head.
By your command
Castiel glances at the wall, looking for a weakpoint. He spots one, and moves towards it, before pausing as a section of his forces do not follow him. Internally cursing, he turns to the recreant angyls.
"Move, we have an opening." Castiel orders.
"Orders are to avoid power armored troops." One of the Angyl's replies blankly.
"Those are militia." Castiel notes exasperatedly, as artillery begins to range in upon their position.
"Orders are orders." The Angyl replies blankly, as if reciting a fundamental truth that all know.
[OBEY]
Castiel rolled his eyes in exasperation "Fine, but you're ordered to obey my orders, right?"
"That is correct." The faceless angyl replies, seemingly serving as a spokesmen for his fellows.
"Then follow my orders, and charge those Militia." Castiel orders.
"Yes." The Angyl replies blankly
"Freaking morons." Castiel mutters, as he flies forward. Heretic fire support is sporadic at first, but swiftly increases in intensity as the enemy seems to realize the Golden Legion's target. Yet it is somewhat hesitant, and slower than what Castiel expected. As if they were surprised by the manuever.
The enemy knows our standing orders, lovely. Castiel grumps.
Spotting a flicker in the void shield Castiel leads his troops in the assault blasts of golden light and impailer rounds trade places at a rapid pace, before the crunch of melee. The Heretics fight with skill and brilliance worthy of the soldiers of the Star Father. Their discipline, solid. Their skills, praiseworthy. Their equipment, the envy of any Stormtrooper, much less the militia that they are. Yet for all their skill, they are outmatched by the holy might of the Angyls, for their foes are far more than mere mortals. First, one militiamen takes a step back, then a second does the same. Soon, they are being pushed back steadily, giving ground as more and more angyls stream through the gap. Yet worst of all, they simply have no answer for Castiel. He is newly promoted, and weak besides, one of the weakest Greater Deamons in the galaxy. Yet a greater Deamon he still is, and no militia, not even Avernite Milita, shall ever be his match.
His flames erupt from his sword, burning heretics by the dozen as he charges the greatest knot of resistance. A knot that is soon shattered, as impailer rounds simply glance off of his unnatural hide, and he moves as a blur, felling dozens of militia in rapid succession. The careful retreat turns into a near rout, as the militia leapfrogs backwards rapidly, trading space and lives to disengage from the Golden Legion. Yet it is a precarious thing, and one more push would send them into a rout, turning a temporary weakness into a true foothold upon the walls. Yet, a young man steps forth. Clad in paratrooper power armor, the young witch hunter wields a power sword in one hand, and bears the Raptor Imperialis upon his breast.
"Withdraw. I will handle the archangyl." The young man calls out, his voice clear and unafraid.
"You shall die." Castiel says, ignoring the incorrect identification for now.
"I do not fear death, for the Emperor is with me. A true priest dies with his flock without a second thought." The man replies, raising his mace and stepping forward to face his doom.
"The emperor is with you? What delusion." Castiel snorts. "The Emperor is with me. This Aquila upon my breast proves it."
"Yet the raptor upon mine says otherwise." The serene voice replies. "It was his personal standard during the Unification. Before Crusade, before the Imperium. I wonder why you do not know of it?"
"What?" Castiel mutters, pausing even as his angyls glanced at him for orders. Castiel wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that it was nothing but a lie. Yet, he was an acolyte, a warpsawn forged into the echo of a member of the Inquisition, and any member of the Inquisition knows how to ferret out the truths, the dark secrets behind reality.
"Ignore the priest, engage the retreating militia. Leave him to me" Castiel orders.
What follows is a bluring duel that on any other day would be an epic of legend. Castiel charges forward upon wings of gold, as fire lashes out from his blade in a display of his newly empowered might. The priest rises to meet him, pitching expert training, and indomitable will against warp forged might. Despite the priest's skill, the fight should be over in moments, for he is young an unready to take such a foe. Yet fall he does not, as wounds that should cripple him are shrugged off, and his blade grows ever more sharp. Despite Castiel's uninjured continence he feels pressed, with his foe's skill seeming to grow by the moment. In near desperation, Castiel marshalls his power and a blinding wave of flame erupts from him.
His foe raises his blade, and a miracle occurs. The faintest flash of gold bursts from his blade, cleaving the flames. Perhaps it is merely a hint of psykic powers awakening. Perhaps even, its a hint of the Saint's energy that even now presses down upon the Echo of the Inquisition. Perhaps, just perhaps, its something more. Yet this moment of brilliance is not enough, and Castiel deals the priest a fatal wound, even as a golden blade draws a thin line of blood across his chest. The priest falls from the sky, slamming into the earth. Castiel, out of curiosity or something more, follows.
"I told you you were going to die." Castiel notes, his tone subdued.
"So you did." The priest replies, his tone still serene despite his approaching death. "You are an odd one Angyl. Yet, when I die I shall go to my emperor's side. Can you say the same?"
With that the priest dies. And no matter how hard Castiel looked, no matter how keen his senses, he could not detect the slightest trace of where the priest's soul went. He stares at the corpse for a moment, before a loud explosion errupts deeper in the city.
[Obey]
"And that would be the trap." Castiel notes with a sigh. "Best withdraw before the Avernites get here." He withdraws ahead of the oncoming counter attack, displaying the initiative and insight common to the Inquisition that he was moddled after, for his Master Chedomar had taught him well. Distracted, he does not notice as his form shimmers, the warp stuff that forms his body destabilizing ever so slightly...
Yet one thing he was never taught, was that even if the Inquisition seeks the Alien, the Deamon and the Heretic, they must be cautious. For they are often corrupted by the horrible truth that lies within.
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@Durin Its very 40k for an inquisitor, or his acolyte to discover some horrible truth about reality and then turn against everything they ever fought for, isn't it?