Captain Zuriel had spent months preparing and training for the trip to the Kharon system, but this would be the first time he had been forced to shed blood on route to his destination. It was also the first time he and his battle brothers had fought against an enemy while the ship was in the process of warp travel, an exploit that was disconcerting enough without having to defend against hostiles.

The warrior clad in midnight blue power armour slumped from his gauntleted fingers and cracked against the deck with a loud clang. Crimson vital fluid hissed and steamed along the vivid flickering edges of the master crafted power sword held firmly in his grip and he thumbed the activation stud on the weapon’s haft, killing the blade’s lethal energy.

“Casualties?” He asked in a hushed tone.

“We have lost seven of our brothers Captain.”

Zuriel turned to meet the baleful red eye lenses of a large helmet edged in polished green. Much like the immobile form of the despatched enemy at his feet, this warrior wore a full complement of mark three power armour, but where the former wore armour of blue, the latter was garbed in a suit of dark emerald.

“Seven.” The Captain repeated, disgust thick in his voice.

A hulking silhouette appeared through a mist of water vapour amongst a cluster of twisting pipes and stepped forward, protruding out of the gaseous haze like a spectre from old legend. Zuriel lowered his sword as he recognised the individual and a reprieved smile creased his face.

“Brother Sergeant, still with us I see.”

Sergeant Therapius held his neck tenderly as he stalked out of the amalgamation of piping, his face bloodied and lacerated with seeping cuts. A humming power axe hung from the slackened grip of his right hand and simmering scraps of gore dripped in his wake.

“You better see the Apothecary.” Zuriel insisted. “You look terrible.”

“Our heretical kin are dirty fighters.” The Sergeant croaked. “Took one right in the throat before I finished him.”

“What do you expect of these pirates?” Zuriel grunted, nudging his boot against the lifeless torso of the dark armoured warrior at his feet. “The Nightlords have been without the Emperor’s graces for a long time.”

Therapius nodded in agreement and deactivated his power axe.

“I’ll fix myself up after I’ve seen this planet we’ve gone through all this trouble to see.”

“We’ll be out of the warp any moment now.” The Captain said. “Join me at the bridge and we will finally set our eyes on this Arkhona .”

Zuriel regarded the helmeted battle brother behind him and sheathed his power sword with a harsh scrape of metal.

“I want every inch of this ship searched Dothan. Take four squads and make absolutely sure that the only Astartes aboard this vessel are of the Dark Angel variety.”

Dothan made the sign of the aquila across his armoured chest in acknowledgement and strode off down the adjacent corridor. The bulky form of a green trimmed bolter rocked sturdily in his arms, the weapon’s barrel charred black with recent use.

“This is Captain Zuriel.” The Captain announced into his vox-link. “The enemy boarding force has been defeated. I am returning to the bridge.”

Sergeant Therapius mag-locked the power axe to his side and followed in behind Zuriel, wiping away a trickle of blood that had dribbled onto his eye. The injuries he had sustained were particularly vicious and had been implemented by a fighter who had sought to scar and maim just as much as they had wanted to beat Therapius in combat.

The two space marines stepped in together, briskly traversing the yawning corridor of stylised gothic architecture before them. It was still a lengthy walk back to the command centre of the ship and although he was still recovering from the sudden confrontation with the traitors they had left for dead, Zuriel had wanted to be on the bridge when they arrived in the Kharon system.

The surprise assault had occurred only moments before they had activated the ship’s warp drives and begun the process of the warp jump. This fact alone was no coincidence and it had become disturbingly apparent that their enemy had been trying to prevent them from succeeding their newest assignment and reaching the planet of Arkhona.

Although hugely outnumbered, the small boarding force of Nightlords never had any intention of trying to take the ship for their own. Their heinous strategy had been simple; secure the engine bay and detonate the ship’s fusion based plasma drive, thereby obliterating the entire vessel.

Using some form of warp crafted teleportation technology unknown to Zuriel, the band of Nightlords had materialised in the lower decks and managed to fight their way to the plasma reactor. If it was not for the haste of the reinforcements led by Sergeant Therapius then it was likely that their old enemy might have triumphed and torn the ship asunder.

Such a shocking and hateful assault was of course synonymous with the martial methods that the Nightlords employed, but the desperate nature and timing of the attack suggested there was something more convoluted behind the suicidal gambit.

Even those of the legions that had fallen to the corrupting powers of chaos had the want and need for self preservation. If the Nightlords had really wanted to hobble the strength of the Dark Angels vessel, there were far more reliable ploys they might have executed if they had given themselves more time in which to foster them.

This deeply troubled Zuriel. There was something truly wrong with their assignment to the Kharon system and there was more to the planet of Arkhona than he had been led to believe. Only once they had translated from the warp and arrived at their destination, might they have some answers and even then this was not guaranteed.

A creak of groaning gears heralded the retraction of reinforced double doors and the immense armoured forms of the two space marines strode onto the bridge. Zuriel approached the raised command dais in the centre of the space and eyed the men and women assembled at their workstations around him.

Bridge officers and lobotomised servitors stooped and toiled over numerous consoles lining the room, each working to a specific role with their own set of exacting tasks. All of the ship’s human veteran crew were dressed in immaculate tidy uniforms highlighted by various medals of renown and he felt a strong sense of pride to see them hard at work even after such a veracious enemy attack.

Distant and reverent through the transparent viewing screen at the fore of the bridge, the world of Arkhona stared back at him from the depths of the void. The planet’s surface looked as if it were glowing, locked in orbit between a trinity of suns, each from one of three separate systems.

“We have successfully reached the warp translation point Captain.” Said an officer looking up from the console in front of him.

“I can see that.” Zuriel replied. “Good work, all of you.”

Therapius stepped up to the command dais next to him and glared ahead at the planet in the distance.

“So this is Arkhona.” He rumbled, his voice still distorted by his injuries.

“Captain.” A high ranked officer interjected. “There is an Imperial class strike cruiser on approach, they will be in communications range within a few minutes.”

Zuriel clamped his jaw muscles together as he contemplated the information.

“Identification?”

“Markings on the ship’s hull match that of the Ultramarines.” The officer responded.

An easy smile formed across the Captain’s lips as he heard the name of their allied battle brothers and fellow space marines under the great banner of the Imperium. With two full space marine companies combined toward one cause, no enemy could hope to stand against them now.

“Wait a minute.” Therapius croaked. “We did not receive any notification that the sons of Guilliman would be in the Kharon system. How do we know that this is not a trick?”

“But the hull markings...”
“It’s suspicious.” Therapius grunted, interrupting the officer. “We have almost no information to go on and we arrive in system with another ship waiting for us. There is something not right here, Zuriel you must be feeling this?”

Zuriel turned to regard the Sergeant’s bloodied features.

“What are you saying Therapius? The Ultramarines have turned renegade? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m saying that whoever is in control of that ship may not be our esteemed brothers. Do you think it coincidence that the Nightlords almost destroyed this vessel before we even translated here? Who says they didn’t also attack the Ultramarines and take over their ship?”

Zuriel considered what Therapius was saying and found himself disappointed that he had not even taken the possibility into account, regardless as to whether it was true or not. His feelings on their journey to Arkhona had certainly been confused and although there was no basis for them, he was sure that something was out of place.

“How long until we are within firing range?”

“Captain?” A bridge officer asked, stunned at the question.

“How long?” Zuriel thundered.

“Erm we can target them with our long range torpedoes now Captain.”

Therapius shrugged as if not accepting responsibility for what he had initiated.

“Your instincts had better be right.” Zuriel warned the Sergeant.

“You know you feel as unsure about this mission as I.” He replied.

Zuriel nodded and turned to address the bridge crew.

“Target the Ultramarines ship. When they are within communications range I want confirmation that they are who they appear to be.”

The higher ranked bridge officer turned pale as he coordinated with surrounding crew to target the incoming ship.

“The Ultramarines are in our sights Captain.” He declared, seemingly unsure of what he had just uttered. “We are primed and ready to fire.”

Before Zuriel even had a chance to reply, Therapius launched himself over the barrier separating the command dais from the rest of the bridge and landed heavily next to the central control console. With barely any effort required he smashed aside the bewildered officer and sent him sprawling across the deck.

Confusion and shock reigned as Zuriel threw his own armoured form over the barrier, stomping down a few metres away from the Sergeant, his ignited power sword drawn before him. Therapius held a gauntleted hand over the activation button on the console, his other arm pointing a shimmering power axe toward the venerated Captain.

“We have been friends a long time brother.” Zuriel cautioned in a rasped whisper. “You are obviously not clear of mind. Stand down before I am forced to do something I do not wish to do!”

“Careful Captain, you wouldn’t want to start a war with our brothers would you?”

Zuriel’s hearts plummeted as he realised that the Sergeant no longer spoke with an injured larynx but rather a different voice entirely.

“My complements to your chapter.” Therapius mused. “This armour is far more comfortable than my own.”

“Traitor.” Zuriel breathed.

The Sergeant smirked with a mouthful of needle pointed teeth and tore away his slashed face in a slurry of gore, dropping the fleshy facade to the floor with a wet slap. Pallid hateful features marred by self inflicted scarring stared back at him, a loathsome grin spliced over the lower portion of his new face.

Rising anger and absolute revulsion simmered within Zuriel as he understood the depths of depravity the warrior had gone to deceive his way onto the bridge. There was no honour or nobility of purpose here. There was nothing their old enemy would not do to take the advantage and on this day he would not forget this most vital of truths.

“You dare stand at my side on my ship Nightlord!” He fumed, raising the sword toward his adversary.

“We’re past daring aren’t we?” The other warrior spat, a globule of blood flicking out between his cracked lips. “Too late for you and your ship Captain. You really shouldn’t be so trusting, even with your own warriors.”

Zuriel growled with rage and took a step forward, using every ounce of willpower he had to restrain himself from charging the traitor.

“Careful.” The Nightlord oozed. “How many torpedoes do you think it will take before the Ultramarines return fire?”

“Was this your plan all along?” Zuriel glowered through gritted teeth.

“No, but one must do all that is necessary to adapt in any situation. It is the key to survival. To success .”

The Nightlord’s grin widened as he flexed his fingers to push the button.

“You lose Captain.”

A cry of exasperated defiance filled the air as a young bridge officer hurtled toward the Nightlord and jammed a short bladed combat knife through a joint seam in the traitor’s armour. The Nightlord roared out with annoyance and backhanded the officer across the room, breaking his neck instantly.

Seeing the distraction, Zuriel barrelled forward and slammed aside the traitor’s hand as he reached out to activate the firing button. The Nightlord scowled with frustration and swung the power axe in a wide arc, missing the Captain’s head by mere inches and burying the blade into the barrier separating the bridge.

Zuriel lunged inward with all his might and drove the crackling power sword through the Nightlord’s chest in a dazzling display of bright frenetic sparks. The two warrior’s gazes met as one and Zuriel watched the life drain from his enemy’s eyes, refusing to yield his grip on the weapon until the Nightlord had perished.

“I know this is bad timing Captain.” A bridge officer muttered timidly. “But the Ultramarines are hailing us urgently.”

The Nightlord’s motionless body slumped to the deck and Zuriel turned to observe the nearby ship now present through the viewing screen.

“Put them on.”

A rustle of static signified the communication linkup between the two vessels.

“Greetings brothers.” A well spoken voice echoed. “This is Captain Mikael Fabian of the Ultramarines third company. Who am I addressing?”

“This is Captain Archelaus Zuriel.” Zuriel replied firmly. “I was not aware the Ultramarines were joining us in the Kharon system.”

“We can discuss pleasantries later Captain Zuriel.” Fabian insisted, his voice reverberating around the room. “I do ask now for your immediate assistance. An Ultramarines scouting party on the southern continent of the planet is beleaguered by Black Legion and Nightlords warbands from the north. There are also reports of a Tyranid presence in the east. Without your assistance we may suffer further unnecessary casualties.”

Zuriel glared down at the dead warrior at his feet and allowed the information to filter through his brain, filling his entire being with greater fury and fervor as he contemplated the Ultramarine Captain’s words.

“Then let us not waste another moment on ceremony here brother.” He boomed. “Ready your forces and let us take the fight to the enemy! To Arkhona!”