The mansion has been swept clean of all life, as the Hive Tyrant has chosen her residence with a display of flare that is unprecedented for the Tyrranid. After devastating the last perimeter defences, the battle brothers set upon the mansion with the vigour that only the engineered Astartes possess. The power grid shattered long before the arrival of the kill team, light floods upon the cavernous entrance hall as the opulent front doors are torn from their hinges. As the sunlight pierces the shadow within, it falls upon the faces of foes that have waited with unexpected patience for their enemies challenge. Light gleams from the silent ranks of minions and warriors, fangs, mandibles, and chitinous scales glint as the anticipation strikes its crescendo.
A soul splitting shriek of inhuman magnitude shatters the reverie of the moment, like steel raked across dry stone a thousand times all at once, as the master Tyrant unleashes her forces upon the besiegers. En-mass the tyrannid sweep towards the battle brothers as they clear the doorway and find defendable purchase within the hall. Cries from Astartes throats hold bay over the screeches of the hordes upon them. Not fear, but the shredding of lingering thoughts of failure, all expulsed from deep within each of the battle brothers as they in turn raise bolters and advance dauntlessly upon their foe. For the emperor these brothers accept any fate beset within these walls. Moving smoothly in coordination that comes only from the sense of duty and honour within their esteemed ranks, the Deathwatch advance, pouring rounds of puncturing death upon the lines of their foes until at last the opposing lines fall upon each other. Thunderous waves collide and crush to a halt as the battle breaks into a furious melee.
Ezekiel bathes himself in the energies of the warp to erect a field of protection that holds back the onslaught as he delivers punishment of his will focussed through his force sword.
Haakon pumps round after round upon the enemy masses, his blessed bolter nothing less than an extension of the emperors will as he pounds concentrated destruction upon his sworn enemies.
Hector retracts the life giving narthecium within its protective housing and wades into the swarm, his chainsword answering each snarl, claw, and fang that sights his direction. He is no longer a healer amongst his squads ranks, but a brother standing shoulder to shoulder set in grim determination.
The room ignites in flame as the vengeance of Alacarde is unleashed through fiery pain. Screams of pain rise above the slaughter as the horde is held at bay by his manipulations of volatile powers.
Octavius allows his weapon to sing the glory of Ultramar as he rends upon these xenos filth in an hour that could be his final. His kill team has made the impossible exist, brought the innumerable enemy to a stand-still, challenged the might of a creature of unbridled hunger within her own layer and answered her call to battle with the iron will each holds deep within their heart.
But the wounds grow too great, the enemies too numerous, the blood of their enemies strew upon the floor now mingles with their own. The mass of their bulbous foe threatens to crush them in numbers. As the seconds tick by each brother is dragged down and overwhelmed, their emergency beacons activating as their life signs slip beyond the veil of the living.
In his final preparations, the heroic Naclavian calls to battle the Hive Tyrant, filling her with the rage of a monarch defied. Her judgement is brutal and callous as she flails upon the doomed terminator, venting her frustrations of thwarted plans. He holds his ground until his blood flows freely through breaches in the revered armour and his soul begins to slip free of the steely clutches of his mind, now holding his failing body in place through honour bound discipline. His body sags to the ground mercifully as his final breath is upon him. As his teleport transponder begins to carry him away into the safety of the heavens, he rolls his head to set eyes upon Tacitus once more as his brother terminator of so many missions and decades of service manually deactivates his transponder.
“Peace and rest be upon you brother. Let go now, I will see you again.” floated through Naclavians vox as Tacitus offered a soothing farewell, his storm bolter searing into the ranks of filth once more.

Tacitus paused once in silent prayer as the forms of his battle brothers were collected by their overseer battle-captain, taken from the maw of death to hold the line elsewhere for the emperor once more. The sober reflection of his lives decisions that brought him to this moment crystallized before him as calmly emptied the remainders of his storm bolter into the horde before him. His attentions were no longer centred there, as each round pulped deep within the mass and shredded the shrieking bodies. He eyes were held within as he clenched his power fist with a singular might. Power pumped greedily through the capacitor into the charging fields as he ignored the safeties within his mind as the ancient suit warned of his intended outcome. Pulling with all the strength gifted to him, he dislocated his shoulder, tendons and muscle shearing away from bone while pain flooded his body, as he wrenched his power fist behind his back. He spared one fleeting look into the eyes of the hideous Tyrant as she rushed forward, enveloped by her horde and warriors to finish this foolish little soldier quickly. As smile met his lips as he tore the power fist deep into the power pack of the suit, breaching the containment field and unleashing the centuries contained fusion lifeblood of the suit.

The world stopped for a heart beat as the promethium fuelled halo of power clothed the marine in a shimmering shroud. As the fusion reacted with the molecules in the air, it expanded outward, offering the same cleansing warmth to the next, then the next. Tacitus saw clearly his desire as he was consumed in the holy fires of vengeance that tore through the rabble about him and subjected the Hive Tyrant to his eternal decision. The air tore apart, carrying with it the Tyrant, her swarm, the building, and all life within a kilometre.
When the light faded from this grounded star, and the acrid smoke subsided, a calm, eerie, quiet fell upon the world.
Captain Thadius Grail watched the data screen aboard the Dark Hunter in silence, his fist held tightly to his chest before his beating hearts in a final, silent, salute to the fallen heroes in a moment of tender farewell for two of the emperors finest.
They fought like brothers.
They died like space marines.