Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(40) Praise the Sun===
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRWL7XKjFGk

The Blade, horrifically damaged, lurches and creaks as the launch bays seal shut. The accompanying wounded Squats are rushed to the medicae deck as the Battle Sisters disembark behind them. The Commandos feel the thrum of wounded plasma drives and a rumbling all around, as the bridge crew announces Warp Travel, the target the Nomad Fleet of Hades. All throughout the Blade, the Commandos can hear the tearing of a hole in the Immaterium as the battleship struggles through and on its way. From current vantage, it is estimated to take three weeks of travel due to the crippling. Three weeks that feel far longer than they should.

Cyril guides Notomok back to quarters, grim-faced and helmetless, giving token words of encouragement to wounded Squats and work crews. He looks hopefully outside for that little light. Out in the purple haze of the Warp, he can see the little lightbulb, shining as ever. He gazes on the light with a heavy heart for a long, long time, pondering.

Cortain, meanwhile, has kept to himself.  He interacts little since returning. His business ventures feel cheap. His motivation is darkened by the shadow cast by Bryn's crippling.

Temur, as usual, spends his time alone in reflection, though some passing his quarters might hear an odd throat-singing coming from within.

It seems the crew was somewhat unprepared for additional travelers. The battle sisters are escorted elsewhere, much to their annoyance, but after a few Vultarax float near, they comply. After about two weeks, however, since everyone is quite sullen, a Squat takes a moment to vox everyone.

"Lord Praetors," the squat states, "Your presence is requested in the Manufactorum. Lord Rockfist and Ancient O'Malley state that it is urgent."
Cyril blinks slowly, then turns from the light to make for the Manufactorum at a speed just shy of running. Cortain mechanically floats over, saying nothing. Temur walks down out of his quarters, out of armor and in chorogrian garb for once, his face grim. Arriving within the Manufactorum, it seems there is a large crowd gathered about. Even the Battle Sisters are there, leaning over some very annoyed troopers. They seem just as in the dark as the Commandos. Cyril nods politely to the Sisters, but cannot bring himself to smile. Holding perfectly still for two weeks has not done his complexion any favors. Cortain, having some idea of what is about to happen, is not looking forward to this.  It's strange, he usually enjoyed this, but considering his friendship with Bryn, it feels...defiling almost. 

While O'Malley is organizing the troops in line, Rockfist and Thexus walk out.
"PRAETORS, THE TASK IS COMPLETE. THE GREAT CRUSADE SHALL CONTINUE."
"Melodramatic as always, toaster..." Rockfist sighs.
"What task, Theta-Ten-Sigma?" Cyril asks.
Thexus extends his arm, as the floor opens up, pistons hissing.
"NOT EVEN DEATH SHALL STOP YOUR WORK, PRAETORS. THIS WAS OUR COVENANT, PROUDLY MADE."
"Of course not - Brynjol's loss was a tragedy, but we shall perservere," Cyril's jaw firms. "But what have you wrought?" he asks tiredly.

Through the floor, through thick, oily smoke, rises the frame of a Contemptor Dreadnought, resplendent in Legionary iconography of the VI, complete except for arm mountings so far.
"He's...not lost, lad," Rockfist explains, "We saved him."
"Till death do they part," Cortain nods.
"Wha- Impossible...." Cyril sits down suddenly.
The Battle sisters scream, and rush up to him excitedly.
"In a sense, he is not lost," Cortain explains, "But he will never be as he once was."
Temur looks over the frame of the Contemptor, his mouth still grim, his stance rigid with arms locked behind his back.
For Brynjol, the haze of death is beginning to fade, and the first thing he can see are lines of Squats, the rest of his brothers and the Support Crew, and four battle sisters excitedly looking you over. Cyril bows his head, lank hair drooping over his face as he begins to chuckle. Rose walks in, tapping some numbers into a dataslate, as great servo-arms fall, placing arms upon the Contemptor's frame.

"What... Is.... Happening?" Brynjol thunders.
Rose removes her goggles, "Brynjol...you're back." She is trying and failing to suppress tears.
Brynjol looks down, the motion whining with servos, "No... You..."
Cyril's chuckling slowly grows in volume until he rocks with great, booming laughs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIX_-AMuAhY

"YOU DO NOT GET OFF THAT EASILY YOU GREAT HAIRY OAF!" Cyril bellows with a grin, tears streaming down his face as he surges to his feet.
Cortain says nothing. His mind is still locked on the 'death do they part' sentiment.
"I'm reading all systems nominal," Rose says, "Brynjol, I'm not detecting any negative feedback or anomalous signals."
"I... Never Asked For This..." Brynjol sighs.
"TOO BLOODY BAD! YOU DO NOT GET TO THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY, SON OF RUSS!" Cyril yells happily, "THE EMPEROR STILL REQUIRES SOMETHING OF YOU!"
Brynjol attempts to take a step forward, manipulator-fingers clutching uselessly at the air.
"Why... Not This... ANYTHING BUT THIS!" Brynjol yells.
"And yet...you are," Cortain says calmly, "Get used to it."
"YOU STILL HAVE A MISSION TO COMPLETE, PRAETOR," Thexus declares, "YOU COULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO DIE."
Brynjol releases a long, mournful howl, laced with static and distressingly monotone from his augmitters. He points his claws at Thexus.
"I Saw You... Before My Death... This Was You?" he asks.
"YOU WERE REBUILT BY MYSELF AND ROCKFIST-LORD-OF-HELOTS, PRAETOR," Thexus confirms, "THE AUXILIA PSYKANA ALSO ASSISTED."
"You Have Made A Mockery Of Me!" Brynjol cries, "I Am A Shell!"
"A SHELL THAT RETAINS THE ABILITY TO SERVE, PRAETOR," Thexus retorts. His chest-skull merely stares.
"Var Fenrys... All I Wished Was To Serve, And To Give My Life For The Imperium..." Brynjol laments, "But You Would Not Even Allow Me My Death?"
"CORRECT, PRAETOR."
"Not when we still have something to kill," Cortain agrees. Cyril nods as Cortain voices his thoughts.
"T'be fair, lad, yer a lot more durable now..." Rockfist offers.
"It Hurts," Brynjol says, "I Can Feel The Meat Behind My... Eyes, And It Is Screaming From The Mouth It Lacks."
"It will fade one day," Cortain offers.
Temur, however has had enough.
"FELLEYE BRYNJOL, CEASE YOUR FOOLISHNESS!" he yells, "I understand your anger and pain, more than anyone present, no Chogorian has been interred for many centuries, nor do we wish to be. However, it is done, and you have a chance to continue to serve the Imperium and the Deathwatch, even if you may grate against it."

"Well, technically you still have most of your head," Rose says, "The Contemptor Chassis has an exposed head. I...we...tried to integrate you as painless as possible."
"It's okay, we still think you're cool!" Charlotte says, as she and her sisters inspect his new chassis.
"I... Will Serve," Brynjol relents, "For I Have Nothing Else Left To Me."
"Few are blessed to be interred in a Contemptor, Brother," Cyril says, "Your situation is better than you seem to realize."
"You still have us!" Charlotte says helpfully, as her sisters nod, "Maybe you'll dream of us ~ ❤ ~ "
Another static-laced groan echoes from the Contemptor's frame.
"You have your brothers, not just your duty, Brynjol," Temur states, "Though your demeanour may have been grating at times, it was not without merit."
Cyril shakes his strawberry-blonde hair out of his face and inspects the chassis in earnest. "If a shell you are, Brynjol, it is a magnificent shell. Think of what it will do to the Hellstar's foul ilk."

Servo-automata float by, performing minor maintenance and checks on the Contemptor's weapons.
"Your arms are currently equipped with your Claws and integrated Storm Bolters," Rose says, "It took us a while to integrate them. Unless you specify otherwise, those will be your default arms. We're still...familiarizing ourselves with Dreadnought options."
"No. I Am Apart, Now. You Will... Entomb Me," Brynjol sighs, "I Know What You Do To Dreadnoughts. I Have Heard Bjorn Speak."
"The Fell-Handed does not inhabit a Contemptor chassis, oh Fell-Eyed One," Cyril reminds him.
"I Do Not Want To Be Treated With Such... Distant Awe," Brynjol admits, "To Be Entombed And To Dream The Cold Dreams."
"Good," Cyril replies, "I do not intend to allow you a moment's peace."
"THE PRAETOR IS CORRECT," Thexus blasts, "YOU WILL NOT NEED TO BE ENTOMBED. THE PRESERVATIVE SYSTEMS OF A CONTEMPTOR WILL MAINTAIN YOU. YOU WILL NOT DREAM UNLESS YOU WISH TO."
"We're just glad you're okay..." Rose says, tearing up.
"If you truly desire death, Brynjol..." Cyril says slowly, "Then when the Hellstar is destroyed and Tiji is free of its taint, I will grant you release. But it would be a great loss for the Imperium. Not even in death does duty end."
"To serve in Death, one is honored beyond fathom," O'Malley nods.
"THE ANCESTORS AND THE EMPEROR ARE WITH YOU!" the Squats say as one.
"On This Day, He Has Never Felt Further Away," Brynjol whispers.
"As do you," Cortain concludes.

The great congregation begins to dissipate, as everyone returns to their duties. 
"Beardlings, we are preparing a great celebration, to celebrate a striking of a grudge from the Great Book in the Bar and Grill," O'Malley states as he begins to walk out, "When all is ready, we would like you to be there. We will let you know when."
"I will be there," Cyril promises, "Brynjol, care to see how much mjod it takes to hammer your new form?"
"I Cannot Drink. I Cannot Eat. Or Breathe," Brynjol replies.
"That's not entirely true!" Rose says, as she rushes up, and Thexus lifting her to Brynjol's exposed helm. She opens a small access flap, "That should work!" she says helpfully.
She closes the flap as Thexus drops her.

"Don't worry about us," Charlotte states, "We'll be out of your hair as soon as we can, once we can find transport to the world of Scholar's Light."
"You are no imposition, Sisters," Cyril insists, "We are happy to have your company."
Yet another binharic groan from Brynjol.
Cortain steps away from everyone. This has hardly been the first time he has served a Dreadnought, but the first to someone he was so close to. He has seen them all serve until death. None of them felt any joy, compromising to accept their next life.  He has seen them pass on, praying only to be remembered as they were. Cortain can only swear to recall Bryn's saga to his utmost.

"At Least You Did Not Raise Me As A Leviathan," Brynjol accepts.
"They have those here?" Cortain asks.
"If not, no doubt Thexus and Rockfist could assemble one," Cyril says.
"WE REQUIRE YOUR MENTAL FACILITIES INTACT, PRAETOR," Thexus explains, "A LEVIATHAN WOULD HAVE DEGRADED YOU FASTER THAN WOULD HAVE BEEN ACCEPTABLE."

Cortain returns to his workshop to absorb the details he will need, to learn about the Contemptor chassis. Cyril hums a jaunty tune as he departs, then reconsiders and approaches Charlotte. Charlotte, the Three Stoogettes, and Rose are all talking. Their chittering in Girlspeak is incomprehensible to Cyril, but they seem to be getting along well.

"Oh, hello, Praetor!" Charlotte says, "Can we assist you?"
Cyril chuckles. "Just Cyril, please; we are not on the battlefield at present. Actually I was hoping I could assist you; I was somewhat... preoccupied... when we boarded, and wanted to check that your quarters and meals have been satisfactory."
"Some quarters were prepared for us!" she offers, before lowering her voice, "The abhumans have been surprisingly good hosts, but we can't help but feel a bit creeped out by all the automata about."
"They're always staring..." the three Stoogettes sigh.
Brynjol stares at Charlotte as she mentions 'automata'. She probably can't tell, since he's a war-machine.
"It is their nature; they do not have eyelids," Cyril states, "Cortain has entered you into all our databases as friendly auxilia, so you are perfectly safe around them. They should even be willing to perform simple tasks on your command."
"We'll...be sure to try that out," Charlotte whispers, unsure.
"Well, I am glad that the Squats have seen to all your needs. Please, vox me if you need anything." Cyril departs, ideas for artwork bubbling in his mind.

Somewhere in the facility, Cortain orders a Scyllax to do a thumbs-up to assure the girls. The Scyllax raises its mechadendrite tentacles, which flail about, as a manipulator rises. The Sisters clutch each other in terror as it floats ever closer. Cyril, quick to realize that Scyllax don't have thumbs, corrects the Scyllax's impression of a human hand before hurrying off. As the Scyllax bobs up and down, floating towards the Sisters, its tentacle now balled up in a fist, they scream and run away.

Temur barely cracks a smile - he's seen enough Tau cartoons to know where this is going...

After a week of slightly more upbeat attitudes, and Brynjol coming to terms with his new augmented self, the damaged Blade rumbles once more. It is re-entering the Materium. Cortain monitors the Augurs, searching for tyranids, most likely misinterpreting the term "Nomad Fleet." Whatever Tyranids he THOUGHT you would find are not there. The Blade is only floating amongst the dozens of transport vessels of the Hades Nomad Fleet.

"Unknown vessel, please ident...oh...ah, Commandos! Republican Commandos!" the vox blasts, "It's an honor!"
"Greetings. You have what is required?" Cortain asks.
"Of course, my lord!" the vox says, "Our supplies may be meager, but we will grant you whatever support we can! It is our duty and debt to you!"
"Good. We will notify our crews to accept whatever you have," Cortain replies.
"Your assistance is appreciated, citizens," Cyril declares with what he hopes is a winning smile.
"Acknowledged, my lord, please, dock at Station 3. It is the only station capable of repairing a vessel of your size," the vox says, as it ends, and coordinates are transferred.

Cyril feel the weight of his winning smile, and heads t...wait, that's not the smile. That's just the sisters attaching like lampreys once again as he smiles.
"We'll bring the Blade around for repairs, lad," Rockfist says, "As for the Nomads, they've prepared a delegation. We can prepare a ride for you, or send you via the Teleportarium. We should have plenty of time for a secure lockon."
"Teleporting may be best," Cyril admits, "Fliers that can fit a Dreadnought cannot fit in some landing bays."
"Agreed." Cortain states.
"Aye, lad, then grab what ya need, an' we'll pop ya over," Rockfist nods, as he heads to the Teleportarium.
Brynjol answers in a rumble, and plods to the teleportarium glumly.

Most of the commandos take their standard weaponry loadouts, with some minor variations. Temur selects a heavy thunder hammer, while Cortain decides to try out the new Frag Cannons. Cyril keeps what he usually takes, while Brynjol is equipped with his claws, swapping out the storm bolters for plasma blasters, and a cyclone missile launcher. Given Brynjol's new condition, the Commandos opt for the Day of Sorrows Rite of War, selecting Furious Charge and Tactical Spacing as their squad modes.

"Ready?" Rockfist asks.
"Brothers?" Cyril asks.
"Let us," Cortain confirms.
"Yes," Brynjol says. He mournfully cycles his autoloaders, claws flaring briefly.
Cyril glances at Temur, noting no objection from the reticent White Scar, "Send us out, Rockfist."

The Teleportarium flares to life, as Rockfist waves off the Commandos. There is a flash of purple, the timeless instant and a flash of light, and the Commandos all appear within a space station. Outside a viewport, the Blade pulls into a maintenance basilica. Rockfist was on target this time, and the Commandos are in the center of a large station.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8aW1fXRhMo

The station reminds the Commandos of a busy hive marketplace. People in tattered voidsuits and ragged armor barter amongst the stalls. A few armed guards stand by to keep the peace. All eyes, however, are on them now.
"The Commandos..."
"The Commandos have arrived..."
Cyril rolls his shoulders, helmet firmly on, and looks around for the folk we were to meet at these coordinates. He gives a little wave with one hand as people talk, still scanning the crowd. Soon, a few in better-looking clothes approach.

"Honored Republican Commandos, blessed of the Emperor, we welcome you to the Hades Nomad Fleet," one man says, "We have received our orders, and will attend to thee for whatever you require."
The congregation bows their heads.
"We humbly accept," Cyril states, the irony of humility while covered like a Sanguinala Tree in relics not lost on him.
"Do what you must," Cortain says dismissively.
The congregation looks amongst each other, it seems as if a great weight has been lifted from their chests.
"Of course, honored Praetors, we shall begin with maintenance rites and devotional canticles," a tech-adept states, "The Bosuns of the Nomad Fleet shall attend to refilling your supplies of food and raw material."
"We are more concerned with repairs - our crew is smaller than most - but if you have the supplies to spare we will put them to good use," Cyril replies.
"Keep us updated with those repairs," Cortain states.
"Of course, please, this way," one dude with a pretty frumpy hat states, "While you are our guests, we shall extend nothing but the utmost hospitality to you."
"For the Commandos speak with the authority of the God Emperor, and we are but servants in their eyes," an aid intones.
Cyril glances sharply at the aid. "We are all servants before the Emperor. Our authority is great, but cannot - Must not - compare to Him on Terra."
"We are...merely devoted in His service in a way most do not understand," Cortain clarifies.

As a servitor with laud hailer announces the procession, Frumpy gestures all around.
"We regret that our meager fleet is below standards, but we were a colony fleet," Frumpy begins, "The world we were sent to colonize does not exist. We can do naught but pray as we wait for the paperwork to go through."
"We wish you the best of luck," Cortain says.
"The Emperor provides," Cyril says, "Your people will have a home, I swear it."
"Until then," an aide says, "We make ourselves useful to the Imperium. You are lucky, my lieges, for we currently have a surplus of supplies we can grant to thee."
"Good," Brynjol blasts at maximum volume, as he tries to get used to the Contemptor's projectors.
"We seek to emulate your sacrifice, honored Warmaster, for the one you made is the greatest of all," the aide explains.
"I... Am Honoured. But My Sacrifice Is A Hard One," Brynjol says, as a spark of his humor bursts through, "I Suggest Something Less Painful." He makes a series of static-y barks. It could be laughter.

Every stall the Commandos pass by, the owners' eyes watch in awe, a devotional psalm uttered every so often. Food stalls, textile stands, candle-lit eikon reliquariums, all eyes are on the holy procession. Cyril watches the stalls carefully, and prepares to hand over over some gelt in exchange for an eikon and a textile or four. However, so charming he is, that the stall-keepers wave them away. 

"We dare not take money from a Praetor who fights for us," they agree, as they give him some eikons and textile rolls. He stores them in his pauldron easily enough. Brynjol looks around, finding an open packing crate. It is a moment's work to lever off the top and soon he has a very large shopping basket dangling from one giant metal arm, which is promptly filled with more of Cyril's spoils. However, as they browse the stalls, the Commandos catch something near one stall, in a side corridor from the main station.

A blue torch.

"Got a selection of good things on sale, stranger..." the Merchant rasps.

As a team, the Commandos upgrade their VF/SS lances to the highest tier possible, the Type 20 Photon Destructor Custom 2's. Brynjol decides to get enough targeters to outfit all the armed forces on the Blade. The rest of the time is spent upgrading Crusader Invictus - Cortain acquires the Deep Void Sensor Augment, Cyril picks up Ceramite Plating to increase the god-machine's armor, while Temur selects Blessed Autosimulacra, allowing Crusader Invictus some measure of self-repair.

"Heh heh heh, thank you..." the Merchant whispers as he steps behind some textiles.

One of the aides walks over. "Commandos...did something catch your eye?"

Cyril begins to augment his weapons with some of Brynjol's targeters.
"I Didn't Say You Could Have Any Of MY Targeters, Cyril," Brynjol stares solemnly at Cyril.
"Then when we get home I can return them to the Squats," Cyril says, "Unless you wanted some on your fingers?"
"Arm Wrestle You For Them," Brynjol challenges.
"Deal," Cyril agrees, "Where shall the contest take place? I rather doubt any stalls here can withstand the stresses of such a conflict."

The aide looks somewhat amused at this, a rare moment of lightness in a hard spess life. By now a small crowd are beginning to gather around, witnessing an Astartes challenge.
"Right then," Frumpy states, "As I was saying, for the duration of your stay, you are more than welcome t-"

Almost as if on cue, the alarms begin to blare. Troopers are running every which way now, as the civilians are beginning to get worried.
"Challenge forestalled," Cortain states.
"Perhaps later," Cyril agrees, "ROCKFIST, AUGUR REPORT!"
Brynjol cycles his autoloaders, turning to face the nearest alarm.
The Commandos tune their augurs, but pick up only screams from the migrant fleet. Outside, they can see heavily damaged voidships just...materialize, slowly on a collision course with multiple stations.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYTXIO-TIis

"That seems...unorthodox," Cortain states.
Flashes of light flicker along the damaged frigates and cruisers, as things come ever closer. Boarding pods.

The boarding pods impact the station. On the other side, the Commandos can hear great braying and screaming.
Cyril barks across vox channels back to the Blade, "Scramble fighters, engage Battle Servitor Control. This is not a drill."
"Prepare For Battle," Brynjol begins to head towards an impact, picking up speed. Not much of it, though. "Curse This Form! Cortain, I Require Faster Legs When We Return To The Blade!" 

Amongst the screaming people, the walls begin to melt, as boarding pods begin to dispatch crazed, screaming people. 
"BLOOD ON THE ICE!" Cyril roars as he bolts for the impacts. "CITIZENS, GET BACK! WE WILL HANDLE THIS!"
Out of the corners of the stalls, a horde of spidery nightmare apostles begins to flow as well, while the buzzing of fly-like wings is picked up by autosenses. Only the floating cyclopean Lanterns are silent, glowing with kosmic energy.

Temur is first, setting his heavy bolter to metalstorm rounds, and firing into the crowd of insane hellstar cultists. His blasts rip apart a good number of them, but catch some civilians in the process. No matter - they were plebs anyway. Cyril is next, targeting a Lantern, downing it in a storm of vengeance bolt fire. Considering the strange kosmic disturbances they produce from mere proximity, he considers it wise to prioritize them. He also requests a vorax maniple down, to assist in purging the spidery apostles, while Notomok the yeti heads off the rest of the cultists. Brynjol is next, readying his claws, and charging into the fray. He finds his new vehicle form does have some minor benefits, as he is able to fire a set of frag missiles into the hordes first before getting down and dirty with his claws.

While Brynjol is content enough to blend things in melee, the fly-like gardens of Eyes surge ahead, catching Temur, Cortain, and Cyril in melee. Their fight then becomes one to remove this problem. While Cortain can at least order Ordeci off to erase a Lantern, he is put on the defensive with the Gladius Invictus, scoring hits where he can. Temur, Cyril, and Cortain work to push back the eyes, while Brynjol continues to purge the nightmare apostles, mournful as he is that his new form is slightly slower than he used to be. Ordeci manages to incinerate another Lantern, while Notomok and the Vorax hold the insane human horde back.

It's not until Brynjol blows away the remaining spiders with a frag missile that he is able to assist the others. Cyril orders him to assist Cortain, who he hopes will then provide fire support. As Brynjol clears out the Eye bothering Cortain, however, Cortain decides on charging back into melee, to assist Cyril, while having Ordeci charge into the final Lantern. Temur is able to send a Garden flying with a concussive slam, while his melta finishes it off.

Temur turns his heavy bolter to the final Garden of Eyes attacking Cyril, purging it in a puff of white smoke, and freeing him up to declare Furious Charge. Brynjol, Cortain, and Cyril all join in beating up the final Lantern, Cyril's Photonic Blade cutting straight through it and incinerating it in soulblaze. It is easy enough for Notomok and the Vorax to finish off the remaining cultists.

All around, the vox traffic is abject terror. However, one signal does come loud and clear.
"Commandos!" Charlotte yells, "It's...it's terrible. They're dying. They're...we..."
"Has it already arrived?" Cortain asks.
Cyril cuts through the stammering with a crisp tone. "Where?"
"We asked your crew to deploy us to cover the station's Shrine," Charlotte says, "We ordered the civilians with the priests where it was safe. But one of the priests...one of..."
"The Shrine, Brothers!" Cyril yells, "Move! We are needed immediately!"

Only after everything lies dead do the Commandos move on, Brynjol the only one to note the fleshy interiors of the boarding pods, the eyes embedded in the walls within staring directly at him.

The shrine is the easiest thing to find on an Imperial Station. Rushing through, the Commandos can see outside great malleable shapes, floating, generating and losing eyes when needed. But the most infuriating thing...

The Hellstar, floating above, the entity the size of a world firing lashing pseudopods out at the vessels. It only takes a touch to destroy one. Those transports are no threat to it, and yet, it continues to annihilate them, its eye darting back and forth, an almost terrible...malice behind it. Cyril breathes an oath at the sight. 
"Ave Omnissiah Invictus... Crusader, come quickly; you are needed."
Its eye turns and watches the Commandos specifically, as the keening is overbearing. Cortain just stares at the eye. 
"You seriously need to make a better routine," he whispers, "This song and dance has gotten boring."
Cyril skids to a halt, allowing his wingpack to rest and the rest of the Commandos to catch up.
"Do not give it ideas, Cortain!" Cyril yells. Cortain hears the keening begin to shift uncontrollably in pitch and tone. 

The Hellstar itself is laughing at him.

The Commandos finally reach the Sisters, huddled together. They've been through hell, though they begin to soften when they see the Praetors.
"Sisters... did any of the civilians survive?" Cyril asks.
"It's...still in there..." Red begins.
"They say those that resist as hard as they can, and eventually fail..." White continues.
"...end up becoming the most hideous beasts..." Black concludes.

Cyril makes for the door as soon as Red has spoken. He has a job to do.
"It...massacred them. We tried," Charlotte says, "But we stood no chance against the great beast within the shrine."

The door is large, carved and inlaid with gold leaf, but covered now in blood. Cyril unseals his helm and swipes his thumb across the blood, tasting it. He closes his eyes, letting the blood memories overtake him...

20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)
"Go! Go in! It's safe there!" Charlotte yells, as she herds civilians in. The priests are standing by, tending to the wounded. The sisters are holding off creatures as best they can, but their aim is faltering. They are afraid. The lead priest, however, merely stands there, before crumpling down.

None see the Presence of the Hellstar, gently caressing him, as his body begins to shift and shudder.

Strangely, the Presence seemingly stares directly at Cyril's viewpoint, as it begins to crawl away, the former priest now standing many times his original size and looking more bestial than human. The horned beast swipes its claw, and Cyril's vision begins to scatter with the blood in the walls. As the vision fades, the last thing he hears is a piercing screech...
20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)

Indeed, as Cyril comes back to reality, he hears that same screech within the closed doors of the shrine.
"What now? Some new breed of freak to be put down?" Cortain asks, "The Presence hiding among the crowd like a closeted heretic?"
Cyril's voice thickens with rage and sorrow. "We face a human priest, twisted by the Presence into a massive horned beast." The perils of insight without control, a test the Commandos went through, and passed, but normal people are terribly vulnerable too. Cyril glances over his shoulder as the Commandos form up behind the door. "We fight for the Emperor, for our Primarchs, and for honor. But above all else we fight for humanity."

(at this point, Brynjol needed to go to sleep, and could not make it for the second part of the episode)

All that stands before the Commandos is the door. Cyril shoves the door open, and is greeted with the interior of the station's shrine, blood and detritus littered everywhere. Only the barest flickerings of lumenglobes are reflected within the pools. Another screech echoes through wide-vaulted chamber, light from the system's close by star shining through the glass, as the only thing the Commandos pick up is the *drip* *drip* *drip* of blood. Cyril marches in with soft footsteps, while Cortain just floats and calls the Thanatar to keep close. Temur lets Vachir loose to look for auspex returns near the vaulted ceiling, and is the first to see something fast pass it by.  The screech reaches a crescendo, as the station floor shudders from the impact, and an enormous...thing lands nearby. You can tell it was once human, but now resembles more some wild hunting beast, its form shifting and growing as it consumes some unfortunate civilian. Its tortured roar echoes through, as it tosses its food away, gnarled horns slowly growing through blood-matted fur. 

As the skittering of spiders begins to rise as well, the Commandos raise their weapons to purge this new enemy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0y1J1nhlGJI

Temur tries to get a count of the spiders, but can't - they are too numerous, coming out of the walls at roughly 10m in every direction. What's worse, this misshapen beast, once a faithful ecclesiarchal cleric, glows with the same kosmic energy as the Lanterns. He moves forward, unloading vengeance rounds at the enormous beast. The bolts impact into the creature, pale blood spraying through the wounds. Cyril blasts the creature with storm bolter and relic bolter vengeance rounds as well, inflicting light damage on the beast. 

"ROCKFIST! MORE VORAX! ANTIHORDE CONFIGURATION; RAD-CLEANSERS AND BIOCORROSIVE ROUNDS!" Cyril yells. Within moments, another Maniple of Vorax is teleported in, to help hold off the Hordes. Cyril roars and points his sword at the Beast, boltguns returned to his thighs in a flash. He declares Furious Charge, with Temur joining in, to beat at the Cleric Beast with Photonic Blade and Heavy Thunder Hammer. As his Photonic Blade cuts in, Cyril notes that the beast's outer covering is thick. Very thick. It feels as if trying to cut through a vehicle's armor. But he does manage to cut through, though with some reduced effectiveness. The creature roars as the burning purple soulblaze scorches it. Temur too smacks the creature, scoring a pair of strong hits.  As Cyril and Temur are soaked in paleblood, the former cleric stares straight at them, its form glowing red as it is forced to the ground.

Though it is on the ground, it launches itself directly at Temur, its lightning fast motion stressing out even Temur's reactions. He barely manages to dodge the leap, and continues his acrobatic dance as the creature strikes out in every direction. Cyril, however, is not so lucky - he suffers a strike which wounds against his insanity bonus, and though his armor holds strong, he suffers a crippling hit, diminishing his action economy.

Cortain realizes that, with everyone else charging the former cleric, it is up to him to hold back the hordes. Turning the Frag Cannon into the Horde, he blasts away a good number of them with fragmentating flechettes. Cortain has cleared his immediate area. As a joke, he sends Ordeci into the gangbang.  So there Cyril and Temur are, cutting and smashing this enormous beast, when a siege automata as large as it is slams into the side, a swipe of a graviton ram out of fukken nowhere.

The nightmare apostles are beginning to reform, however. Though they have no way to get to Cortain fast enough, they're swarming into melee with Temur and Cyril. While Temur is getting smacked around, Cyril's assets are doing a fair job bodyblocking. Temur is thus forces to defend against both the terrible beast and swarms of spider creatures. His attention is taxes, and he is drowned by swipes from the Horde.

However, by now, the kosmic energy has reached a critical point. The Commandos have resisted this entire time, but they all feel terribly heavy, a sharp pain in their minds, red shards of insight erupting out as they work to control the eyes lining their brains. While Cortain is relatively well-off, being reduced to only a few wounds, Temur and Cyril feel their heads rip apart, and are forced to burn fate. Cyril chooses to burn to live, while Temur burns to Manmode.

Temur considers calling down even more assets, but the Commandos are out of points - what they have is what they must make do with. Temur continues to smash the thing with his hammer, and it leaks paleblood fucking everywhere. It's clear the creature is severely damaged. Though Cyril himself may be down, his zoo continues to fire, with unfortunate little effect. The beast targets Cortain, leaping up once more, but Temur manages one last strike as it charges out of melee, interrupting its trajectory and slamming it off to the side. The creature lets out a terrible, eerie screech, as it leaps up, through the shining glass window, leaking paleblood all the way.

The Horde begins to retract back, some following it into the void before the armored doors seal.

"Commandos, are you-" Charlotte and the Three Stoogettes yell as they rush in, seeing Cyril battered and everyone but Cortain severely bloodied, "By the grace of the God Emperor!"
"Lads...La--------ya read? It's hard ta talk wi----------all this vox traffic," Rockfist voxes, "Do we 'ave a good vox connection?"
"Better now," Cortain admits.
"Lad, it's a mess out here, that damnable Hellstar is ripping through the Nomad Fleet," Rockfist yells, "Worse, we picked up somethin' leavin' yer station. What was that?"
"Apparently the Hellstar learned a few new tricks," Cortain sighs.
The Sisters are on Cyril, tending as best they can. Their care is abruptly halted as Ordeci recovers him.
"Whatever it is it is severely damaged for now," Temur notes, "But I imagine that will not last."
"Well, whatever it was, it latched onto one of the thing's pseudopod - it's on another vessel now," Rockfist says, "Are ya still on the station?"
"We are," Cortain confirms.
"Good, we can't get a good lock on ya where ya are, so try an' find someplace more open an' less armored," Rockfist notes, "We'll try to recover ya."

The former Ecclesiarchal shrine, now blood-soaked, lies silent. The Commandos form up, and prepare to move.
"Lets get out of here, there was an observation port nearby I think," Temur offers.
"That would work," Cortain confirms, "Should be less interference."
Temur leads the way out of the Shrine, and the Commandos find themselves in the access corridors once more. Like ducklings, the Sororitas follow Cyril closely. Outside, the wreckage of various ships blow about along the Winds of Spess, while the vox traffic continues in utter, abject panic. As the Commandos listen, rushing past the window, the vox traffic begins to die down rapidly all of a sudden, until they are left with complete silence.

Temur brings up his heavy bolter "That's.... odd."

Not a single soul in the entire Nomad Fleet is saying a word.
"Rockfist, are you locked on?" Cortain asks, "We need to move immediately."

Finally, outside, the Commandos note the Hellstar's eye shift.
"I ready ya, lad," Rockfist says," I think...everything's shifting in our favor."
The view outside is suddenly obstructed by something huge, reflective, jet-black. A dull red glow then suffuses the access tunnel, as hardlight shards begin to coalesce outside.
"Only a matter of time then," Cortain says excitedly.

The Winds outside are shattered, by a sound that is half warhorn, half the roar of a feral beast.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fos5FnJopzk

"Lad, we have ye locked on," Rockfist says, "Are ya ready?"
"Good," Cortain declares, nodding his consent. The Commandos' world flickers for the briefest of moments, an eternity over in an instant, and they find themselves upon the bridge of Crusader Invictus. Even the Sisters have been caught up in the teleportation. Whoops. Every cogitator screen glows a burning red, and from the ground emerges the old wooden ship's wheel. The god machine, Crusader Invictus, spreads its wings, raising its sword, as it turns to one of the Command Battleships off to the side.

Notomok gently takes Cyril from Ordeci, and sets him by some controls, where his MIU can plug in for a direct interface. Cortain, meanwhile heads to the weapons cogitators. Temur steps up to the wheel, "Let us see what we can do."

To the Commandos' great concern, out of the battleship bursts the former cleric, but he is absolutely titanic, almost the size of a voidship itself now, but malformed. Its former legs are now more along the lines of a smooth aquatic tail as it slithers around the vessel. Gorged further upon innocent Imperial citizens, it screeches once more at the Commandos, and Crusader Invictus roars back in challenge.

"We're ready when you are!" Rose says as she floats up in her normal interface position.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRGRSCAOqh4

The Titanic Beast roars at Crusader Invictus, curled around a nomad fleet command battleship. Crusader Invictus circles around, firing torpedoes and Arc-Charging the bombers, inflicting heavy damage.

"This is...I never thought I would..." Charlotte stammers in awe.
"It's incredible, right? I feel like we can take on anything with this!" Rose replies.
"Hold on to something, Sisters. This may get bumpy," Cyril rasps.

The Commandos play a conservative game, preparing for a charge, as Crusader Invictus's fist surges out to impact the now ascended beast, engorged on the loyal and the faithful.
"Rocket Punch!" Rose yells, as Cruader Invictus's fist surges forward, impacting the ascended beast. As the fist retracts, the Commandos suddenly notice something. They're still moving, and the star nearby is getting ever closer. Crusader Invictus continues to free fall, as the the Ascended Beast drags itself forward against the gravity, to start punching.

Two raking claws manage to get through, and though Crusader Invictus scores a counter-attack with the Crusader Sword, it has left itself open, suffering some hull damage. The Hellstar's tentacular mouth then swirls around the wreckage, pseudograspers grabbing bits of wreckage and charging them with kosmic energy, and firing them at Crusader Invictus, who circles about, narrowly dodging kosmically empowered shards. However, the Commandos are getting very close to the star now. It's beginning to feel a bit...warm.

"CHARGE THE BLADE! LAUNCH TORPEDOS!" Cyril yells, "DISTRACT IT WITH ALL OUR FIREPOWER BEFORE TEMUR CARVES IT APART!"
More bombers are launched, as well as waves of torpedoes, to leave Temur an opening. With Crusader Invictus in the perfect position, Crusader Invictus Arc Charges the Blade, and faster than the eye can track, cuts effortlessly through both ascended beast and empty command battleship tomb. As the shards of the battleship fall into the star alongside the Ascended Beast, Crusader Invictus itself splashes down into the molten gas, sinking down.

"Commandos..." Rose says, "we're...still falling."
"I noticed. Cortain, anything on augurs?" Cyril asks, "Temur, prepare to maneuver..."
As the blast visor sinks down to block out the light, the Sororitas begin to worry.
"Commandos...is there anything we can do to help?" the sisters ask.
"I will let you know if there is anything you can do," Cyril commands, "Temur, can you pull us free of the star's gravity?"
Crusader Invictus tries to move up, out of the sea of starmatter, but it seems the god machine is stuck. The gravity right now is too strong.
"So hot..." the sisters sigh.
"Commandos, the superheated gases are beginning to breach Crusader Invictus's hull!" Rose says, "We can't seem to break the gravity well!" Indeed, the superheated gases burn past the first layer of ceramite, damaging the God Machine as the Commandos struggle to find a solution.

"We cannot afford to hold still, or to go much deeper in this accursed heat," Cyril suggests, "Dive sideways and we will try to escape that way!"
As Crusader Invictus rushes sideways, the heat gets hotter and hotter. He fails to realize that the thing about orbits is one is constantly falling. Crusader Invictus takes even more damage, as it sinks further.
"It's so hot..." Charlotte sighs, "It feels like...I'm on fire..."
"COMMANDOS!" Rose yells, "We have a problem! The gas is eating through! At this rate, it's going to breach the Heart Invictus! I...don't know what to do..."

"How much faster can this damnable thing go?" Cortain cries, "Any further than this and we might need to abandon god-machine! And I refuse to let this relic from my sight!"
"I feel like...I should be remembering something..." Rose says, "I'm sorry, but we're going as fast as we can! We just don't have the power to escape!"
The Commandos try their last-ditch effort, arc charging the Heart Invictus.
"MOVE!" Cyril yells.
The falling sensation begins to slow, but not stop. At this depth, even Arc Charged there is not enough power to break free. The Commandos are now...stuck. 

Temur, surprisingly, is the first to give up, accepting his death. Cortain struggles to wrack his mind for anything that could help. He gets close, recalling the prophesy by the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, but not having recorded it, he can't remember the next step. Cyril finally tries a logic test, for he has Total Recall, and while he may not remember important details, his character would.

And then it hits him.

"I can't hold it off much longer! The star is going to breach the heart!" Rose repeats, "What should I do?"
"Let it," Cyril finally realizes, "The Heart shall endure."
"...let it?" Rose asks, "I...all right, I trust you."
"AND SO SHALL WE! Have faith, Rose LaKhora!"
"WHAT?" the Sisters yell, "But...we have faith in you."
"Perhaps I should seriously think about buying memorance implants," Cortain sighs.

Crusader Invictus shudders as Rose releases the shields guarding the Heart Invictus's turbine. As the light all around becomes unbearably bright, the Commandos sense the presence of others. Mere shadows, the outlines of people, who stand around the old ship's wheel. The unknown shadows look up as the brightness finally becomes too much to bear.

"Those who came before..." Cyril correctly deduces.

Crusader Invictus vents the Heart Invictus into the star itself, the heart's turbine spinning and absorbing the superheated gases of the star. Ancient heartblood, replaced by the new, the core of a star itself. And then...the Commandos feel movement. Straight up.

"Warriors, brothers, ancestors... we salute you!" Cyril requests, "LEND US YOUR STRENGTH!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yKHEOny5rA

The Commandos feel lighter, as the motion finally stops. The blast shields release once more, as Crusader Invictus curls up. A mighty roar echoes as Crusader Invictus releases a surge of energy in all directions. Crusader Invictus is...different.

The Heart Invictus burns strong, having taken the core gases of the star into its heart. The Heart Invictus glows a perfect white, the great turbine within spinning faster than ever, purged. Purified. Even its armor has been scorched clean, the black paint the Mechanicus applied now gone.

The original hull of Crusader Invictus, perfectly reflective gold, shines proudly forth.

"Status?" Cortain asks.
"We just ate a star, Iron Praetor," Cyril states.
Cortain checks the power readings. The Starmatter absorbed into Crusader Invictus is flowing well. No aberrant signals detected - everything is beyond nominal, all systems functioning even more efficiently than before. Crusader Invictus spreads its wings, the star's gases forced away by the wave. However, the Ascended beast breaches the star, swimming in it, braying in challenge. 

Crusader Invictus points its sword, its frame shining gold except for its fists, which can now be truly said to be composed of Star Platinum.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rej1lAt5VRU

The star flares every so often, as Crusader Invictus, resplendent in its Auric Regalia, burns red-white with fury. Crusader Invictus charges, even attempting another Zandatsu attack, but the Ascended Beast's constant sinking into the star makes it hard for any attack to land. 

"Let the fire into your heart, and purge yourself of doubt..." Rose muses, "You were right. Now let's stop this thing - we can still save everyone!"
"It is too late for that," Cyril sighs, "But we will save who we can, and AVENGE the rest."
Cyril lowers his voice.
"The man at the core of that wretched beast will be laid to rest."

The Ascended Beast rises up, attacking with a hit and run slash, and attempting to launch as much starmatter as possible at Crusader Invictus. However, it falls victim to a counter-attack from Crusader Invictus, and the god machine is able to dodge the waves of superheated gases. Now on the offensive once more, Cortain arc charges the Bombers once more, sending them out in Aerosmith formation.

"Vola, vola, vola..." the bombers go as they drop their payload on the creature, heavily wounding it. Cortain then bombards the beast with torpedoes, staggering it.  

The Hellstar sends more kosmically charged wreckage at Crusader Invictus, but it can't get a clear view. Staring at another star is bad for the eyes, after all. 

"Commandos, something feels different..." Rose muses, "What would happen if you arc charge in a recursive loop?"

Cortain, quite intrigued, puts in the command, and Rose begins managing the power to prevent an overload. Crusader Invictus's reactor begins to glow, the great turbine within spinning. The God Machine releases another wave, now surging outside with red Atomantic energy. Now supercharged, the Commandos find they can call a Squad Mode. Declaring Furious charge, Crusader Invictus surges at the ascended beast.

"There goes the need for red paint," Cortain muses.
"We shall be the envy of Orks everywhere," Cyril quips.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxmUns6udiU

Surging low, over the Hades White Dwarf, Crusader Invictus brings the Crusader Sword up, briefly disorienting the Ascended beast, before impaling it once more. Waves of bombers and torpedoes force it down as the creature is impaled deeper on the sword. Crusader Invictus casts thw sword up, dragging the creature through the star itself and tossing it high up. The Buster Shield reforms, its edges sharp and serrated. With the Ascended beast freefalling in the air, Crusader Invictus brings its arm out, the serrated edges cutting through cleanly. The pieces of the disgusting creature sink into the star, disintegrating into white mist.

"I feel like we were truly blessed to see such a display..." Charlotte says in awe.
"No signs of the creature left," Rose announces, "It's over."
"Rest in peace, Cleric..." Cyril sighs, "May the Emperor absolve you."

Even the Hellstar itself is beginning to phase away, disappearing amongst clouds carried along the Winds of Spess

"What now?" Cortain asks, "The fleet is...gone."
"There are survivors," Cyril states, "We shall find them a home, and there will be more calls for aid on the Cortex."
"Right, lad," Rockfist says, "Ya saved enough of'em, they'll recover, if only slowly. Repairs will be delayed a bit, but we'll manage."
"Are we at least functional?" Cortain asks.
"We will be soon, lad," Rockfist promises, "Ya jus' leave that to us."

Crusader Invictus stretches its wings, flying past the Hades Nomadic Fleet. Everywhere the Commandos pass, every window, the Imperial civilians, the survivors, kneel, and prostate themselves.

"We will recover what remains of the fallen we can," Cyril says with finality, "I promised them a home."

Though the Hades Nomadic Fleet may be heavily damaged, they will endure, and Crusader Invictus has received another piece of the puzzle. For all that it's worth, it can be considered a victory.

---------

The Nomads of the Fleet work tirelessly to repair the Blade. Not a single material is left in storage, not a single hand left idle. The Commandos march amongst the people, offering litanies and prayers, offering hope where they can. All eyes are on them, and all eyes are in utter awe.

All living eyes, that is.

The Commandos are observed by every pict-recorder they pass by. Every step the Commandos take is watched. Hidden away in the deepest depths of one of the oldest ships in the Nomad Fleet, on hundreds of screens, the compound eyes of a Vorax Battle-Automata track the Commandos' every move.

"It has happened before. Hmm. It shall happen again."

Even the support crew are around, assisting the commoners in the tasks of their simple lives. A thousand reflective facets turn to Executor Thexus, as the Castellax Battle Automata walks amongst the populace.

"Intriguing. The Executor has returned, but not for long, hmm. All Marked of the Fabricator Locum seek each other out, eventually. Hmm. It is time to prepare. The future calls, and I must be ready."

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