[Your ceramite hand tightens around your power sword's grip. The weapon feels solid, real, an anchor point in a situation spiraling rapidly out of control.]
["Interesting," you say, your voice cold and measured. "Didn't you Dark Angels claim that your power weapons, representing honor and faith, would never be pointed at battle brothers?"]
["For the Lion!" Asmodai screams, his voice cracking with religious fervor. "You damned Fallen! Tell me your secrets! Cry! Scream! Repent in despair!"]
[He moves first. His power sword comes up in a vicious overhead chop aimed at splitting your helmet. No hesitation. No mercy. Just pure, manic aggression.]
[Your own blade rises to meet his. The two decomposition fields collide with a sound like reality tearing, throwing sparks and distorted light in all directions. The impact travels up your arms, servos in your armor whining under the strain.]
[Your other hand moves. Your bolter comes up, aims for Asmodai's chest, and fires.]
["Haa!" Asmodai's shriek is half laugh, half battle cry.]
[His Astartes reflexes kick in. He throws himself sideways, power armor moving with inhuman speed. Your bolter rounds chase him, explosions walking up his flank.]
[Boom. Boom. Boom.]
[The detonations catch the edge of his ceramite ribs, cracking the armor, sending fragments spinning away. He staggers but doesn't fall.]
[You don't give him time to recover. Your magnetic boot comes up in a brutal kick, slamming into his knee joint. The ceramite buckles. Asmodai drops to one knee with a metallic crunch.]
[Your power sword reverses, comes down in an executioner's stroke aimed at his helmet...]
["Recruit! If you kill him, there's no coming back!" The veteran sergeant's shout barely registers.]
[The other Dark Angels are moving, power swords raised, converging on your position. They think they're about to witness a murder. They think they're about to cut you down.]
[Your blade stops.]
[The flat of your power sword crashes into Asmodai's helmet with a sound like a gong being struck. His head snaps sideways. He makes a sound somewhere between a scream and a whimper, then collapses forward, unconscious.]
[You don't wait. Both magnetic boots slam into the ground, and you launch yourself toward the Land Speeder Vengeance like a sprinter leaving the blocks.]
["Stop him! He's trying to steal the vehicle!" The veteran sergeant's voice booms across the vox.]
[The Dark Angel veteran, the one who fought beside you in perfect coordination, appears on your flank. His power armor eats up the distance between you in long, loping strides.]
[His power sword comes up. You swing yours to meet it. The blades clash, lock, grind against each other.]
["Get out of my way," you snarl through clenched teeth. "Don't make me start killing."]
["Brother." His voice is barely a whisper, nearly lost in the chaos. "The Land Speeders have tracking systems. They'll hunt you down in hours. Get to the settlement, find another vehicle. Or steal one of the Dark Eldar's craft."]
[His grip on his power sword loosens slightly. Just enough for you to notice.]
[Understanding flows between you in an instant. He's helping you. Risking everything to help you.]
[You shift your stance, change direction mid-stride, heading toward the settlement proper. The veteran follows, launching a series of attacks that look aggressive but carefully miss anything vital. Pure theater for the benefit of the other Dark Angels.]
[The remaining battle brothers close in, their power swords humming.]
[The veteran suddenly raises one hand, palm open, pointing at his own chest. The meaning is clear: kick me.]
[You nod once, plant your foot, and drive your magnetic boot into his chest armor with every ounce of enhanced strength you possess.]
[The veteran flies backward, power armor spinning, arms windmilling. He crashes directly into the path of the pursuing Dark Angels, creating a tangle of ceramite limbs and weapons.]
[You run.]
[Your power armor's servos sing as you push them to maximum output. The settlement's broken streets blur past. Behind you, bolter fire erupts.]
[Boom. Boom. Boom.]
[Explosive rounds impact the ground where you were a second ago. You leap, dodge, weave between buildings. The Dark Angels are excellent shots, but you're faster, and you have momentum on your side.]
[You plunge into the settlement's interior, using buildings as cover, putting walls and rubble between you and your pursuers.]
[Finally, you stop. Lean against a wall. Force yourself to breathe properly, to regulate your racing hearts.]
[Your shoulder throbs. The wound from the agonizer has gone numb, which is somehow worse than the pain. You can feel something wrong in the muscle, in the nerves. You push the thought aside. Deal with it later.]
[You scan your surroundings.]
[The Dark Eldar's operation is winding down. Most of the civilians are already dead or captured. The few remaining xenos are loading their prizes onto skiffs, laughing at something, probably the fact that the Astartes retreated. They look emboldened. Reckless.]
[You move again, power armor carrying you deeper into the settlement. Your boots crunch on rubble, on broken glass, on things you don't look at too closely.]
[But you can't avoid seeing everything.]
[Bodies everywhere. Mutilated. Tortured. A pregnant woman lies in the street, her abdomen cut open, her unborn child beside her. Both dead. Both displayed like art.]
[Your hand tightens on your power sword until you hear the hilt creak.]
["The Dark Angels' inner circle must be purged," you mutter, the words bitter as poison on your tongue. "What difference is there between them and heretics who've betrayed the Emperor's vision and humanity's Imperium?"]
[A high-pitched whine cuts through your thoughts.]
[You spin. A Dark Eldar on a Reaver jetbike screams out of the sky, diving straight at you. The rider has spotted you, is bringing weapons to bear.]
[You don't panic. Your eyes track left, right, calculating angles and distances.]
[There. A building wall.]
[You sprint toward it, magnetic boots activating at maximum strength. You hit the wall at full speed and keep going, running up the vertical surface as if gravity has become optional.]
[Three steps. Four. Five. You reach the apex of your run and launch yourself into the air, power armor making you a dark green missile.]
[The Reaver jetbike passes beneath you, the rider twisting to track your movement, too slow, always too slow.]
[You come down on him like the Emperor's wrath. Your power sword plunges through his black armor, through his ribs, through his spine. The blade exits his abdomen, still humming.]
[The jetbike wobbles, starts to tilt. The rider is already dead but his hands are still on the controls.]
[You wrench your blade free, throw yourself forward, and grab the handlebars. Your weight shifts the bike's balance. You compensate instinctively, muscle memory from a life you've never lived taking over.]
[The jetbike steadies. You're flying now, in control.]
[Four Dark Angels emerge into the street below, their white-hooded heads tracking your movement. Their power swords rise automatically, a trained response.]
[You turn your helmet toward them. For a moment, you just hover there, the jetbike's anti-grav systems purring beneath you.]
[You reach back with your power sword, spear the Dark Eldar's corpse, and hurl it down at their feet. It lands with a wet thump.]
["Since you fear the Fallen so much," you call down to them, your voice amplified by your helmet's vox, "then I'll become Fallen myself!"]
[You gun the jetbike's throttle. It surges forward.]
["From this day forward, I have no connection to the Dark Angels Chapter!"]
[The jetbike screams away from the settlement, wind tearing at your robes.]
["The next time we meet, brothers, it will only be with power swords clashing and bolters firing!"]
[The Dark Angels shrink behind you, becoming tiny figures in your rear display. You don't look back again.]
[You're Fallen now. Might as well act like it.]