Vas, full name Vassa, though no one used it, gripped his Purgator auto-blaster tighter as his company’s ship, the Furor, began hovering and the hatch creaked open.

  The planet's feeble gravity seeped into the bay, tugging at him with its unnatural lightness, making his Armiger armor feel more like a hollow shell.

  The brothers ahead of him leapt from the Furor’s hatch, dropping to the ground as the ship slowly drifted backward.

  Then it was his turn to step off, landing with a crunch of soil under his boots.

  No enemies were nearby, so the company formed up, locked at attention.

  This was his first time in this sector, but all of Abyssalhome looked the same, like it had gone rotten.

  Above, the sky was a festering wound, bruised crimson and yellow clouds roiling in anger, threaded with jagged veins crackling with nature’s fury.

  Ash and embers sifted down like poisoned snow, while the ground rumbled beneath him. He scanned around at the warped trees and foliage twisted up from the ground, the horizon bleeding away into a rusty haze, the air pressure so thin it made every breath feel rationed.

  To Vas’ right, Lir muttered a prayer under his breath, breaking attention by tracing the trey across his chest plate over the chapter’s sigil, the blessed Mother in blue and gold, clutching a burning heart.

  Captain Torn was already out front, his Cataphract-armored bulk planting the company banner with a thud that sent cracks spidering through the earth, holding his heavy turret like a blaster.

  "Harbinger Company!" the captain's voice growled over comms. "You know the deal. Serious-rated gateway spewing shadowfiends a klick north, due to open within this phase. Two other gateways in this sector spilling around the same timeframe, covered by Anvil and Omega Company. The 11th Templar is on standby, their sector clear, ready to come assist if shit gets hectic.”

  After scanning his company, Torn said, “It won’t. Not one of us falls today. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. All that muck. Let’s get to work. We few!”

  “We few!” Harbinger Company yelled out the chapter’s motto as one.

  Vas fell in with his squad, First Lieutenant Kael's lot, alpha team under Sergeant Dilk. They’d take the center, being first squad.

  He took his spot, Marko to his left, the hulking gunner with a scarred helm, and Lir on his right, a quiet razer from some backwater, always quoting scripture under his breath.

  Vas was a rifleman, though he was third Tier, having no interest in leading anything, just killing everything.

  The company arrayed in a wedged line, digging pits for cover in case their Holy Fortification block fell, the blighted earth yielding grudgingly to their entrencher tools.

  The chaplain performed a beacon ritual, drawing Hellspawn to it, though it’d be hit or miss if it worked on what vomited forth from Serious-rated gateways.

  Drones hummed overhead from the operator and lancers, eyes in the sky, relaying info as the company dug in with the efficiency of men who'd done this a thousand times before.

  They’d been on this rock for over three months now, so even the cherries knew the score, no longer seen as so green.

  It’d been one grim battle after another, non-stop slaughter, and Vas reveled in it.

  Lir wasn't the only one hailing from the sticks. Vas came from Kardis, a world as backwater as they came, though it hadn't always been so.

  In the days before the Fourth Galactic War ravaged the stars in the twenty-fifth century, Kardis had teemed with life as a vital trade hub, its cities packed with tens of billions.

  But war's merciless tide nearly scoured it clean, reducing the populace to a half-billion survivors filling the ruins.

  The Furious Alcyonites were the ones to thank for any left alive. They descended like avenging angels, blood-soaked saviors.

  Ever since, that era formed the sole core of important Kardis history, all that was taught to the world’s sons and daughters, even the Cloisteranage-born like Vas.

  The chapter was exalted with a zeal bordering on the Heretical, revered nearly as fervently as the Holy Trinity, with statues and grand murals of them everywhere.

  Of course, fate's cruel irony struck centuries later during the Belial Deception of 2769, when the Demon Lord, ensconced on the Hellworld of Sanguis Imperium, unleashed an insidious entity.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  It wormed its way into the Furious Alcyonites' ranks, ascending to grand marshal, luring the entire chapter to that blood-soaked world as unwitting sacrifices.

  The chapter was annihilated, its tattered remnants regrouping under the banner of the Zealous Few, vowing to rebuild, vowing eternal vengeance against the unholy.

  Vas seldom returned home, but when he did, being a Knight of this chapter elevated him to near-Divine status. Crowds would gather, filled with awe as if the blessed Mother herself had returned.

  Many viewed the Zealous Few with the mythos of their predecessors, the chapter of the truly devout and compassionate, deeply immersed in the sacred and gentle teachings of Mother Mi.

  But to Vas and those of Kardis, they were not seen as loving guardians, but vicious, merciless killers wading hip-deep through rivers of gore, savage and bloodthirsty angels drenched in the blood of the unholy, born to war, forged to slaughter.

  Vas far preferred Kardis’ mythos.

  Once the pits were dug, Dilk then Kael checked fields of fire and set up callouts and ranges.

  To see the hexagonal gateway of molten bronze, carved with grotesque, eyeless faces twisted in torment, through the haze without too much zoom, Vas had to cycle through his visor’s vision-modes to something workable.

  Ready to lay the hate, it was just waiting, intermittent cracks of lancer fire breaking the silence, killing roaming Hellspawn as Doc walked the line, bothering everyone, and the chaplain led teams in the Penitent’s Prayer.

  Finally, Torn’s rugged voice crackled over the comms. “Gateway’s spilling. Say your prayers, ladies. For God and Empire, prepare for righteous slaughter.”

  Torn was the third captain Vas had served under. He appreciated the man’s methods, forgoing group prayer and all the usual prattle, keeping it short and sweet.

  Shadowfiends poured into the haze, horrors of smoke and spite, elongated forms slithering more than walking, their bodies wavering wisps of darkness pulsing with red ichor, like blood trapped in night.

  Their heads were elongated maws of serrated void, with eyes of burning coals that caused madness if you stared too long, stronger than the pull of their dark whispers. Each had vicious, sickle-like claws glowing green.

  They came in waves, trailing smoke behind, not mindless, but cunning, scanning, smart enough to probe and flank, seeking weakness when engaged.

  "Go," Torn stated over comms, calm as a pond.

  Vas and all of Harbinger activated Lock and Load for the Lord, his auto-blaster humming hotter, uniting with his brothers, and recoil dampened, effective range stretching out.

  The company opened up as one, the world exploding with violence, sanctified rounds streaking through the thin air, punching into the fiends with bursts of Holy light that shredded their ethereal hides.

  The shadowfiends pressed on like professionals, rushing through the ashfall, spreading out, blurring in the low pressure like ghosts.

  Seeing Sergeant Dilk’s block appear, Vas invoked Holy Fortification, the Energy surging from his core, a translucent block shimmering into existence before him, one meter square.

  As his blaster spit fire, all around Vas, the company’s blocks snapped out in near unison up and down the line, a wall of sanctified barriers.

  Holy Congregation linked them, the brothers uniting under this too, but more of them, each block tougher for the bond, damage mitigation and absorption stacking, Resilience and Toughness climbing. Vas felt it in his bones, that shared zeal, the fire binding them.

  He leaned over his block, his auto-blaster barking over the top, then activated Repent, his next shots flaring with extra Holy damage, ripping into a fiend.

  Marko beside him laughed grimly, his turret whirring on its tripod, spewing a ceaseless storm.

  Lir fired his blaster, murmuring to himself, needing the fiends closer for his area attacks.

  And the battle raged on, tearing down fiends as they spewed out the portal. The alphas were few, but powerful and cunning, leading small packs to charge.

  Harbinger Company stuck to doctrine, tactics by the book. For the most part, with only a few calling out Abilities and mag or cell swaps. They all knew their business, having battled alongside one another long enough to know the score, so Torn didn’t push that muck too hard.

  They fought, pouring out volleys, laying the hate, thinning the herd, focusing when targets were marked, lancers picking off alphas, their Sanctified Shots cracking through the air like the Lord’s judgment, drones revealing smoky, hidden clusters.

  When the enemy got closer, and the press grew thicker, those with Abilities from the Zealous Luminar Class, the razers, got to work, marking areas and calling out, “Righteous Raze!” and “Holy Fire!”

  No breaches, no risks, just the steady grind of war, the dark whispers nearly nothing, not even the cherries at too much risk.

  A few shadowfiends made it close enough to release fell attacks, forcing Vas to duck behind his block. He popped up, spraying them, the discharge tearing one then another apart in a spray of inky vapor, Lir getting the rest in an explosion of fire.

  But another swarm down the line, this one led by an alpha, snuffed out a cherry, his vitals flatlining in Vas' display, though some fool still howled out, “Doc!”

  That was only the fifth Harbinger lost during this Crusade. So far. Pretty good, considering.

  There was a large group of cherries back at Fort Acre, getting experience guarding the base’s perimeter, waiting to fill the spots of the deceased.

  Harbinger Company would be back up to full soon enough.

  The captain or a squad leader marked an alpha getting too close, its form glowing, weaknesses lighting up.

  The thing shrieked as a dozen men opened up on it, its claws flailing at nothing, shredding it methodically.

  Vas’ Energy Points ticked down even as they regenerated under the company's unity, his Holy Vigor Capstone, and his Energy of Maitreya Feat.

  Wave after wave culled with the line and fortifications holding. By the numbers, as usual. No heroics, just a grind.

  There was a lull before the gateway pulsed again, spitting more, and Vas wiped ash from his visor slit as Lir muttered another prayer.

  This was war, the real score, how it went, grim and endless, for God and Empire. He changed cells and got back to work.

  Then the world behind him screamed. It started as a low whistle, like the wind tearing through a corpse's ribs, building to a horrific wail, one that whined through the comms, causing static.

  He felt it in his gut first, some wrongness, a chill that bypassed the armor's seals and sank into his bones. Warnings flared across his helm display, a few brothers calling out, “Rear contact!”

  He spun and saw the gateway manifesting like a wound in reality's flesh, and only two hundred meters or so off, a far deadlier gateway than the one vomiting shadowfiends.