Lonkelo dives into Kill Team

Meanwhile, Armsmen Komarov and Lihachov raced through the northern hallway, feeling secured by Timohin and Glinka, who were keeping an eye on the door. Of all the enemies that could have been waiting on the other side of the door, they didn’t expect two battle brothers from the fabled Deathwatch standing but a few feet from them. How thin the door must have felt if they’d known…

Astartes cannot be called prideful. They just know that they are superhuman. Whereas lesser men could worry about the quick advance of their feeble peers, they knew that their faith, weaponry and the skill with which they wielded both, would bring glory and victory to the Emperor.

With grim determination they advanced into the main hallway. As Brother Numeris laid down covering fire with the already feared plasma gun, Brother Eziraphel – his power claws crackling in the dark – was able to secure their first objective.

“By the Emperor’s gilded balls, it’s the Deathwatch!” Gerasim shouted hoarsely into the comms, as he recognised his foes in the light of plasma fire. The Endurant wasn’t a fearful man, but the presence of multiple Space Marines at the other side of the room, who could break his reinforced shield like an egg shell, was enough for him to press himself as far into his small corner as he could. He hoped it would cover him.

The crunching of Durak’s fried remains beneath his feet snapped him out of his shock, however, and he carefully opened the hatch towards the main generator room, all the while keeping his position and his eyes on the dark far side of the room.

Surveyor Lazarev was able to recognise this tiniest of lulls in the fire lain down by their enemies, and in that moment sent Grenadier Alpatich racing across the room, through the hatch door. “Second objective secured!” he shouted to his fellow navy breachers.

There was no time to celebrate, for at that moment, the Deathwatch broke through the Northern hallway door. The Void Shrikes wouldn’t have believed that such a tall and broad warrior could move so swiftly, if the Deathwatch Sergeant Demetrius hadn’t dashed past them and cut down Gunner Glinka with a fell swipe of his xenophase blade, before they could even blink.

In the dark doorway another pair of eyes lit up. Armsman Lihachov was the first to move into action. He shouted to his companion Komarov: “are you waiting for him to pour us a drink? Shoot, damnit, SHOOT!”. With deft hands, trained through years of service, he changed his ammunition of his shotgun for dirty close-range fighting, snapped it shut and opened fire into the door opening. The sharp cracks of navy shotgun fire echoed off the iron walls, lighting up the mighty silhouet of their opponent. The combined rounds fired by the two armsmen had hit home and would have ripped an ork to shreds.

Indeed, they had pierced the Deathwatch Veteran’s armour and even wounded the ancient warrior monk. Brother Terratis felt annoyance at this: he would have to miss the regular after-mission service to visit the Apothecary, who would have to tend to his wounds. He sighed as he strode through the doorway and brought down his powered blade on Komarov. He split the man in twain as if lazily dropping a hot knife through butter. Splattered by the blood of his comrade, Lihachov tried to move his bayonet between this angel of vengeance and himself.