The blade cut at his side, but he managed to dodge the brunt of it. It still scratched him, but it was not a deep wound. He jumped just in the right moment to avoid the blade. He did not even know how he reacted. It was just instinct.

  'Whoa there,' he exclaimed, surprised. 'That's a little extreme, don't you think? You could have..'.

  He could not finish the sentence, for his assailant struck again.

  Michael was never the one who would look for a fight. He was not the aggressive type, never tried to use his strength to get his way. However, he did know how to fight.

  He grabbed the hand that held the blade, turned around on his back leg, and threw the attacker into the wall.

  'Okay, I get it. Let's prank the new guy, haha, really funny. You got me,' said Mike. Yes, that must be it, he thought. This is just a joke, a sort of initiation. It's a little dark, sure, but...

  He stopped the thought. For he realized he was bleeding. He knew then that this was all too real.

  'Look at that, guys,' one of the figures spoke. 'The pig still thinks we are joking. What do you say to this accusation, brothers'?

  'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!' bellowed the reply, as they all drew blades around him.

  He knew in that moment that he had to get out of here. He quickly looked around. And saw a window on his left, blocked by three of the approaching cultists. He gathered his strength and strode forward, surprising his foes, pushing into them, all of them falling to the ground.

  He stood up quickly, desperately rushing to the window while the others were catching up behind him. He jumped, crashing through the window, breaking glass, and landing in the foregarden. He felt small cuts all over his body. He knew he was not safe yet, but at least he was on the streets now. He could cry for help; he could find refuge in one of the neighboring houses. He stood up, looking to the horizon.

  And saw the skies burning.

  He headed to the police station. After managing to get away from his attackers, he ran without stopping. The others did not follow him, and he did not want to think about why, for deep down he knew the reason. They went on to see someone else to complete the disrupted ritual.

  He knew it was that, for the whole thing was stripped out of the pages of BattleAxe 15000. He could not tell if it was insanity or conviction that led them, but he knew that in the books it was a method for summoning demons, most likely of the blood god, Khorne.

  It was all surreal, but this was the closest to a logical explanation he got. And he needed it, for all around him was only insanity.

  On his way, he saw houses burning up in great fires. Heard screams, pleading for mercy before being cut short, only leaving the chilling silence behind. He stumbled upon puddles of blood, symbols drawn in red, wrecked cars, and dead bodies on the sidewalk. Men, women, old and young alike.

  This can't be happening, THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! His thoughts were spiraling. It was like in a horror movie or a bad dream. But the burning cuts on his body reassured him: this was real, and he needed to get help now.

  Then, he saw a scene that stopped his stride. A woman on the other side of the road, bleeding and crawling on the ground, holding a newborn in her arms, crying as she tried to save her child. Michael stood frozen for a second. He could save them; he could carry them to the station and get the medical help she needs! But just as he would move to cross the road, a cultist appeared behind her with a big brush cutter in hand. He only wore a ragged, bloody pair of pants.

  'Where are you going, sweetheart?' He asked with a psychotic grin on his face.

  Mike moved to save them. He had to save them! He had to protect them! HE WILL DEFE-

  The cultist struck, cutting the head of the mother clean off and sending it flying towards Mike. He froze mid-stride from the sight of the head at his foot, looking at him in despair and shock. Everything went silent, except for the sounds of the fires and the crying of the now orphan baby. The murderer started stomping on the mother's corpse, crushing the infant under it. Again. And again. And again. Until it fell silent for eternity.

  'NOOOOO!' Michael snapped out of his frozen state and shouted. The cultist turned to face him, with the same otherworldly grin on his face, weapon in hand.

  'Why?' Michael asked, almost sobbing. 'WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?! THEY WERE INNOCENT!'

  'Khorne cares not from where the blood flows, only that it flows!' Shrugged the deranged killer.

  With that same notion, he cut at the upset boy. Mike managed to dodge, but still the cut reached him, wounding his chest. Blood started to drip from the cut wound as pain flowed through his body.

  'See? When I'm done with you, you shall be a fountain of blood and gore, in the name of the one true God!'

  Realizing this could really be his end, he almost fell to his knees. The pain, the suffering he had seen so far was too much for him all at once. Frankly, he would welcome an end at this point. What good is he alive, after all, if he could not even save those two?

  He looked at the bloody remains of those he failed. And a new emotion took over the sorrow. The voice from before shouted at him again.

  FIGHT!

  The deranged cutter wielder struck again, aiming to slice him in two. He took a sidestep to his attacker's right, dodging his blade and punching him in the face with all his strength. The cultist went flying back, crashing into a nearby car; his face broke wide open from the force of the punch. He gave out one last gurgling gasp and let his weapon fall from his hand. He moved no more.

  Micheal stared upon the dead killer for a moment. Waiting to see if he would get up or not. When he realized his foe was not breathing, he looked at his bloodied fist.

  'How did I-?' He asked himself. Suddenly, he heard noises from the distance. Gunshots. Quickly, he went and picked up the brush cutter from his deceased foe. He was close to the station now; still, he had a greater chance to reach it with a weapon in hand. He took one last look at the head of the woman.

  'I'm sorry, you deserved better,' he said softly. After all this passed, he promised himself that no matter what, he would see that they get a proper burial.

  He headed to the corner. Just one turn and the police station would be in sight. Help. They can protect him; he may be able to help in the defense or help the others who took refuge there at least. He could only hope that there were indeed others.

  Just as he would turn to the street, however, a giant wave of an explosion came out of the street, sending him flying back. His ears were ringing, his head spinning, as he quickly stood up.

  He leaned against the wall beside him, supporting himself forward. As he took the turn and saw the hell that awaited him.

  The police building was on fire, lighting up the street in the dance of the flames. It was almost like the waking sun, only its light held no hope for a new day, only the certainty of damnation. Especially when paired with what he saw on the street before him.

  'It... It cannot be... this cannot be real...' he said to himself, in a trembling voice. He recognized the creatures before him; he saw them in pictures and in video games. In models. He knew their name.

  Three Bloodletters, their eyes burning with otherworldly flames, with great, blazing swords in their hands, their tongues hanging from their mouths like some perverted tail, their black horns covered in blood. If hell existed, he thought, this is what it looked like.

  All around them were bodies. Mostly policemen and women, who probably died defending civilians, only to be cut down by the demon's blades. One of them was feasting on the dead, taking huge chunks of the corpses bite by bite. Another one was trying to break in the door of one of the nearby buildings, smelling survivors no doubt. The third one was just... walking around. They all acted... confused. At least by the standards of what he read about them. They seemingly did not even notice his presence. He found it weird, but given that he did not even know the norm these things should follow. Only what he read in books, which yet again, proved to be the only clip to reality he had left.

  Michael knew that he had to get out of Kurtgross. Without the police and their weapons, there was no safety left in this town. He started to slowly back away from the street.

  Find a car; start it. Get to the nearest city. Get help. Those were the only coherent thoughts he could come up with. He did not know how to drive a car, or how to steal one, but he had no other option if he wanted to get out of here alive.

  But his luck ran out. The one demon who was just wandering around noticed him and recognized him as prey. With an ear-splitting shriek, it charged at him. Mike quickly looked around and noticed a dead cop near him and her gun on the ground. He wanted to reach it, but the creature was quicker; it was already in front of him swinging its blade.

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  With a battle cry of mere instinct, Michael ducked away from the blades path, swinging his own, slashing into the demon's left leg. He now was on the ground when the creature turned back to him. This time, however, he was the one who surprised his opponent. He quickly turned to his back, firing the pistol into the face of the neverborn. It took a step back, shrieking from the attack it suffered, right in its eye socket. Mike quickly rose to his feet, firing the gun again and again into his foe. It did not do too much damage but kept the creature at bay for a moment. Up until it swung its blade at him. He managed to pull away but got his firearm struck right out of his hand. He now only possessed a mere knife compared to the monster's sword. Worse still, while he was busy with their brethren, the other two got him cornered completely. There was no way he could escape now.

  So this is it, he thought. This is how I die. To the minions of the blood god. He let out a despaired chuckle. The irony did not elude him. This morning, he would have thought this was a really cool way to go out as a fan of these stories.

  Well then, why not make my final moments at least accurate? What does it matter now?

  'FOR THE EMPEROR!' He shouted, ready to launch himself onto the demons, who let out a monstrous shriek in response to the battle cry.

  Thud.

  All of them stopped in their tracks. When they heard it. For a moment, Michael thought it was another explosion.

  Thud.

  Even louder now. The neverborn turned to the way of the sound.

  Thud.

  Mike realized these were not explosions. They were steps.

  Thud.

  Thud.

  THUUUD.

  That was when Michael Zion finally saw it. It stepped onto the street and stood in front of the great-burning station. It must have been at least fifteen meters tall. The silhouette of a carapace and the guns on top of it. The flags, which were hanging from it. The huge cannon on its right arm and the giant chainsword on its left. Its feet breaking the concrete by only its weight. With the fires behind it, it looked like a giant, which emerged from the shadows, to protect the people from these terrible terrors. For its helm was akin to that of the knights of old tales. Of those who protected the weak and hunted down their oppressors!

  Michael recognized this form; he recognized the weapons and the body, for he had looked at its miniature version on his shelf every day.

  It was an imperial knight paladin.

  Sir Ghallian nor Fortan took in the scene, which was broadcasted to him through the filters of Spear of Wisdom. They have landed a few kilometers away with what was intended to be a small scout team originally. That is, until the lord inquisitor warned of a warp presence appearing in this settlement. He could not say the scale of this threat, for from this system it was still very hard to do anything related to the immaterium. It was by the grace of the Emperor only that they could travel here in the first place! Then again, it made all small events like this one much more noticeable.

  The scion was no psyker, but he did not have to be one to notice the burning settlements on this planet. Once they landed, he headed to this one for one simple reason.

  Find its pilot. Find the one who knows the secrets. He is there. He is the key.

  This message hit him as soon as he landed. One of the oldest ghosts from his throne had given him this task. He had not the time, nor the opportunity, to ask more, but he certainly intended to. He had no idea who he was supposed to find or how to search for him. However, he did know one thing once he had set foot in this town.

  It was overrun by heretics. And he will not allow them to live. Street by street, any and all cultists he found were quickly put down by the might of Spear. It was easy work putting them down, for they had no organization whatsoever. They ran around maiming and killing the innocent, like rabid dogs. No plan, no vision, no purpose aside from the one to kill the most amount of people they possibly can. It has sickened him. For a little while he even considered that they were wrong and that there was no sorcerer here. Until he saw the bloodletters in this street. And their prey.

  There he is! Said the ghost of his throne. Protect him at all costs!

  He wanted to ask his questions. Why this young man? Who is he? What could he possibly know of what they seek? But there was no time.

  For he was a knight. He was a protector of the innocent. The champion of the Emperor Himself! No matter who this person was, he heard his battle cry. He will not let a servant of the imperium die without a purpose. With an effort, he shut out the ghosts of his throne from his mind.

  With a twitch of his fingers, he activated his heavy stubber. With the precision of a marksman, he shot down the demons surrounding the young warrior. One after the other, they fell, shrieking in anger at their foe.

  For now, his auspex showed no other hostile forces around them. The man whom he saved did not seem to possess any communication device he would recognize. By the looks of it, he did not have any possession on him at all, not counting his weapon. Nothing looked strange about him. He was staring at his steed in awe and terror. Like someone who had never seen a machine like his before.

  'But then, how could he be the "pilot" I seek?' Ghalian asked himself. Suddenly, the supposed "pilot" rushed over to one of the fallen and took his gun. Ghallian looked with caution. Should the boy attack, he would not hesitate to give him the same fate as he gave the demons. (Not that these weapons could harm his steed).

  But the boy had no such intention. He quickly took one last look at the Spear of Wisdom and started running in the other direction.

  He probably got scared, Ghalian thought. For a split second he thought of using his warhorns to signal him to stop, but he perished the thought. The boy would likely not understand. And warning shots would be just as likely to kill him as they were to stop him. It was hard to predict the movement of a scared child. So he decided to go with the only other option. He followed him.

  Michael was running with all his speed while hearing the thunderous steps behind him. His logical mind came up with only two explanations for what he was experiencing: he either went mad or he was already dead, and this was just some kind of afterlife hallucination.

  Regardless, there was a small chance that this was the reality. And there was someone, who he wished to save, someone who he forgot about, in the heat of the moment.

  Robert.

  With the gun and the brush cutter in his hand, he planned to protect the one person who was good to him in this town. He rushed by the buildings, not even listening to the sounds anymore. Maybe it was the trauma he just experienced, or maybe it was because there was nothing to listen to anymore. He could not think about it now. He could not think about the burning cars beside him; he could not think about the smashed windows, the dead bodies of civilians and cultists alike, the fallen power lines on the streets, the war machine behind him, or the strange figures with weapons in hand all over the place. He only could think about—he only allowed himself to think about—getting to the electric shop to save his one friend. On his way, he passed the university again. It, like many others, was burning. Its walls broken down, even more than before, some missing completely, the trees finally getting the death which they craved for so many years. Almost all of the windows were broken now.

  Well, he thought. The day had come after all. No coming back to this place now.

  Taking it all in slowed him down for a moment. Only for a moment. Then, he renewed his stride.

  A few streets. Only a few more streets, and he would be at his destination. He could save his friend; they could escape this madness. Maybe the knight behind him would offer them protection. Maybe they could start anew in a different part of the country. Maybe there is still hope for their endeavors, and maybe they could get their normal, quiet lives back.

  All these hopeful thoughts were stopped when he arrived at his destination and saw it broken. Its windows were broken, with shattered glass all across the pavement, along with the displayed items. The doors were ripped out of their place, the sign above them half broken down. The place and dreams of his and Robert's were now destroyed by the madman. And the scene before the shop made the outside world fade out of his mind. He half heard that the paladin stopped behind him. It also had to see the image, which made Mike's blood run cold.

  Robert was dead. His body lay face down on the road, covered in his own blood, which was spilled from a wound on his back. It was wide, and judging by the bloodstains, he tried to crawl away after the first hit. But his murderer would not allow that. The one who stood behind him. A woman, her clothes bathed in the blood of the shopkeeper, as was her hatchet and her face, which was staring in shock at the giant bipedal war machine behind Michael. She froze in her place, her dark-brown hair hanging in a ponytail. For a moment nothing moved around them. As if time was frozen. None of the presents moved. Then in her shock, she took a step back.

  That was what shook the would-be engineer out of his state.

  With a mighty, rage-induced battle cry, he rushed at his opponent, dropping the gun from his hands. He wanted to do this face-to-face.

  By the time the woman realized what was happening, it was too late for her. She tried to raise the hatchet in self-defense, but the cut of the rage-induced warrior was too swift, severing the weapon along with her hand. She screamed in agony while another attack slashed through her chest. She fell to her back; Michael stood over her with the blade in hand. Before this night, he never thought about killing. He thought he could not take a life from anyone, no matter what they had done to him. He realized now that he was wrong.

  'Go on. Beg for your god's mercy. To save you, to grant you gifts. Or you know, what its answer will be?" Khorne cares not where the blood flows. "SO YOURS IS AS GOOD AS ANY!'

  With that, one final cut was dealt, slitting her throat. Blood spilled like a river of death from her body as she started to bleed out. For a few seconds, her body threw itself around by instinct, trying to fight the inevitable. Then, it stopped. She was dead.

  Mike walked over to the body of Robert with staggering, trembling steps. He dropped the blade from his hand and fell to his knees. He turned over his friend's body. The shopkeeper's face still resembled the shock he must have felt when he died.

  Michael started crying.

  'You deserved so much better, my friend,' he said, sobbing. He shut his eyes. He did not want him to see the rubble of his hometown in his death.

  With tears in his eyes, he looked up to the knight, who had stood guard over him so far. Its dark blue armor decorated by the dancing flames of the city. The paladin's helm looked right at him.

  After a long silence, he said only a few words to it.

  'Shoot me, for that is the fate that awaits me. Do it, and take this pain away.'

  Ghalian observed the scenes as they have played out. He did not interfere, both out of respect for the need for vengeance and to see what this "pilot" is capable of. The boy moved faster than any human he had seen, and he could use weapons with surprising precision. Something that should not be this easy for a citizen of an overall seemingly peaceful planet. From the information they gathered, in this month or so they were in the system, this planet has seen no uprising like this before. At least, not one they could notice from the broadcasts, as hard as they were to decode. Maybe some parts were lost while decoding these old types of communications?

  His train of thoughts was disrupted by the vox message from the voidsmen, who were tasked to hunt down the heretical forces.

  'Sir Ghalian, we have routed out every possible cultist in the area. It seems that no survivors were left, however. It is possible that some have fled, but those who were in the settlement were killed. Should we give chase to fulfill the lord inquisitor's orders of total elimination'?

  The knight thought for a moment. While he knew that the corruption of the arch enemy could spread from the survivors—if any—right now, it would only generate a costly conflict should they chase them. He was sure that inquisitor Lucian would order it anyway, but he was not here.

  'No,' he answered. 'We do not have the time, nor the resources for that. I have a... special individual in my sights, however. One, who I think can tell us more about this world. Please assist in bringing him in. My steed is only seated for one, I'm afraid.'

  Whoever this boy was, whatever he had in his life, it did not matter anymore. Any dreams, any knowledge, any strength, and possessions he had were not his own anymore.

  He belonged to the Emperor now. And Sir Ghalian and Fortan would make sure that he gave him the answers he sought.