This is from an actual session where one of my characters ended up having to save everyone's life - for the last time.

____________________________

Gaerrant is bleeding, profusely. Meredith is down to her pistols. Kael is being carried since the rocket-propelled grenade detonated next to him. I am the only one standing tall, strong - fuelled by the anger and hate I have against these heretics. I smile. Explosions around me, dulled voices - ricochets pinging. I see the air-gate; the last gateway before we are finally saved. Our gun-cutter is there, waiting for us - the servitor revving the engines and doing pre-flight check-ups. I can hear this from my micro-bead, hanging loosely from my ear. The voices and explosions come back to me in a torrent; the mewling pain of Kael, the weeping and wailing of Meredith as she falls, her knee exploding under her. My name is Farruk - I am an ex-guardsmen. I raise my space marine bolter and aim carefully and true; a head explodes in the throng that is our antagonists. Laughter fills me; I am born for this - I was created for this sole purpose. My Inquisitor bellows in my ear to get the team back to the gun-cutter; I must comply. They will die if I do not do something.

Actually throwing Meredith through the air-lock and into the gun-cutter, I then pick Kael and throw him in after her. Gaerrant looks at me - quickly - and nods. He knows what I am about to do.

I pick up my fallen weapon and feel the throng vibrate in the webbed flooring beneath me. Once again I cannot keep a smile from my lips. They will all die. Every last one of them. Maybe I will too - but they will surely all perish for I am true to the Emperor. I am true to my Inquisitor - to my fellow Acolytes.

"Gaerrant!" Meredith almost shrieks, quizzically; "Where is Farruk?"
"He's not coming."

I slap the button and pistons hiss and moan. I take a step closer to the throng; they stand there, waiting - panting in wait for the bloodshed.
Inquisitor Daevir Lewden bellow in anger. He is absolutely furious. I rip the micro-bead from my ear; I cannot take it any longer. I have failed him. I did not survive. I remember telling him that I would. He's my brother, you know - my own Inquisitor. Fantastic to know that my brother will keep serving the Emperor even after I'm gone.

I look at the throng, smiling. Pulling out both my mono-machetes and taking the stance I am most familiar with I have only one thing to say to them;
"Bring it on."

They all start at the same time, bellowing dozens of names of their blood-deity; Khaeyrne of the Throne. The throne of skulls.