Blades flashing, lifes snuffing out and bangs of concussion is echoing all around me. My helmet lies somewhere beneath the mass of milling legs, dismembered hands, noses, ears and other bigger body parts. I try to reach for it but my arm keeps getting knocked away. Blood is running down my face, I feel it. Jeering, painted faces jab at my back and neckplates. Sometimes they draw blood, other times sparks fly off as their blades hit my armour. I keep scrabbling forward; I need my helmet, I know it. I am dizzy and disoriented. I feel out of place, out of time. Everything is swimming in a fog, in a haze my mind cannot clear. I finally grab a hold of the metallic circle that is the bottom of my helmet. I pull it to me, like a woman would pull her child to her in heavy traffic. I quickly secure it to my plate, hearing the suction as my suit encloses me in safety once more. My panting gets louder inside my dead helmet. My left lens is cracked and diagnostics are being run as I try to scramble to my feet. By the Emperor, this is heavy. I push two of the jeering, painted abominations off me and realize who I am. I am Legion. I am Astartes. I am the Emperor's arm in the Immaterium - I am Deathwatch.

I stand up and draw my short stabbing sword. It flashes with energy and I dodge a spear that is thrust against my face. I stab the wielder in his right arm, then quickly stab him in the left shoulder. I put my huge, metallic foot between his nipples and hear ribs crack. I am satisfied with my work. They are merely wearing crude leathers and feathers. Their faces covered by paint and what is supposed to be scary masks they die by the score - but there are many left and only few of us.
"Brother! Glad to see you arise like a phoenix! We thought you lost!" Brother-Captain Maccabeus speaks in war-cant.
"Oh, Brother - I don't think so!" I respond, laughing. My blood is pumping, my body pushing endorphines and adrenaline into my veins. I live for this. This is what being alive truly is. I grab a manbeing with my massive fist across his right shoulder and press, hard. I hear bones snap and his awful cry as I twist his arm out of its socket.
"Infidel!" he screams in my face, "Can't you see what we are doing here?"
I laugh, a metallic, rasping sound coming out of my vox-speaker.
"Dying, you meddling, mewling fool. Accept death and succumb to the might of the Emperor!"
I drop him, stepping on his face as I move on to the next foe.
A huge brute of a man comes walking toward me. His mutant arms are as thick as tree trunks, his chest a barrel. He is wielding what seems to be a glaive of archaeotech origin and design. He slashes at me - he is quite proficient, I must give him that. My left pauldron is almost smashed right out of its socket. I wince and correct my step. Never underestimate. Never divert from the Emperor's holy path. Stay true to your goal, to your master.
Screaming in death-rage I hurl myself at him, going past his guard. He stabs me in the gut, deep, before I get to him. He smiles, thinking me dead. I put my left hand on the shaft of the spear and pull him closer to me.
"Hello." I say, before rising my blade to strike at my foe.

"Xinthus! Are you alive?" my Brother-Captain asks me through the fog I am in from the regenerative powers of the Astartes physique.
"I try, Brother-Captain."
"Twice you will rise for me. This is an omen, I tell you."
"You're the far-seer. I wouldn't know. Can I rest now?"
"Yes, Brother. You may rest. And rest well - for there are much work to be done for the Emperor. Trust me."
I smile and look around for my helmet. It's gone again. I must have removed it when the battle was won. I have shaft in my left hand, broken and covered in blood. I almost cannot remember where I got it from. No matter - whoever wielded it is most probably dead.

I will later go under the name of Phoenix. I am the new squad-leader of Squad Magenta. I am ready to bring war to the Emperor's enemies, whoever and where-ever they are. I am Astartes. I am Legion. I am Deathwatch.