The Blood of the Fallen
The Fallen had hoped that he would escape his foolish former brothers on this warpcursed world. The inhabitants had not even raised an eyebrow at the appearance of a Space Marine, and for the first time in 10,000 years, he'd felt safe again. That was until yesterday. Two fleets had appeared in orbit above the planet, and a crusading force of Black Templar's and a chapter that escaped recognition, but with a symbol that seemed familiar yet distant, had landed, cutting into his fellow devotees of Chaos with cries of praise to the Corpse-God. The Fallen had fought bravely alongside a small contingent of Word Bearers that had been spreading the glorious truth on the planet, before they were cut down by members of the unknown chapter, the Fallen barely escaped, wounded but still alive. And now he was being followed. A small group of the unknown ones had broken off from the main force, and had been trailing him ever since. The Fallen continued his walk towards the distant horizon. He would escape this day, no matter what it took.
One week later: The Fallen cursed the Gods who had brought him nothing but misery. The small squad that was tailing him was now down to three men from ten, those seven having turned back to the main force. He could still hear the screams in the distance from the poor bastards being "Liberated" by the crusade. His ship had been totaled by the crusader's initial bombardment, but there was still a chance that the vessel that had brought the Word Bearers to this cursed world was still intact. The Fallen noted that he hadn't seen the three he'd thought were still following him through the mountains in a whole day. Then he heard a voice slightly farther ahead. It was a battlecry. "Heresy begets retribution!" thundered from ahead as three marines charged out from an outcroping, chainswords whirring, their machine-spirit's eager for blood. The Fallen pulled his chain-axe off of his belt, and battle was joined. This was his only chance to survive, and he would not lose it to some stripelings not even worthy of the title "foe". The three attacked together, leaving no opening for him to strike, and keeping the Fallen on the defensive. He finally recognized the symbol, a variation of his former legion's emblem, as the chainsword's of all three pierced his ceramite breast plate. The Fallen looked towards his killers, his lifeblood spilling from his body, as they spoke in unison. "Retribution must be paid in blood."