Wearing his long camouflage coat and the peaked cap tucked under arm, Rolf entered the officers' mess. The air was tense with anticipation. Chomaki had informed them all that they were to attack the Berzerkers on the planet Kiitar. Rolf couldn't say he didn't belong to those that longed for the battle. He longed to fight against the heretics and to show them what the Imperial Guard could do. Six years had passed since he joined the Imperial Guard. It had been six years since he'd seen Callidus. In some way, he missed it and never wanted to go back at the same time.

Taking the beaker full of steaming caffeine from the stand, Rolf walked off in thoughts. Just six hours left before landfall. They would have assistance from the Sister Sororitas. Rolf had heard the other officers call them Nuns with Guns, but he refrained from such. He didn't find satisfaction in such things like others did. The officers of course thought themselves witty, but Rolf didn't agree. He had seen enough of their 'wit' over the years. For how much he admired Chomaki, the man couldn't be funny except at others' expense, especially Irwin's.

Rolf found Irwin sitting all by himself by a table. He had perhaps a dozen data-slates before himself and a cup of coffee. Rolf steered towards where Irwin was sitting and sat down next to the rotund man. In the last three years Irwin had perhaps put on another seven kilos and he'd gotten himself quite a potbelly now. Coming into his forties, Irwin's hair had already begun greying at his temples. It was obvious that Chomaki burdened Irwin with political and bureaucratic work, and it was equally obvious that the little man didn't like it. But instead of complaining, he performed the tasks given to him with perfection.

Irwin barely noticed Rolf when the young man sat down next to him. He continued working with the data-slate he was holding. After a good five minutes, he put it away and leaned backwards, one hand on his capacious belly, the other one gripping the beaker of caffeine. After sipping it, Irwin closed his eyes and sighed, and then looked at Rolf.

"Good afternoon, Rolf," Irwin said and tried a smile. Rolf saw clearly that Irwin's eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep.

"'Afternoon, Hendrik," Rolf replied, trying to hide his concern for the man. It didn't work. "You look like you need sleep, sir."

"Indeed I do," Irwin replied and put the beaker back down. "But I must finish these things first. Chomaki expects it from me."

Rolf sneered. "Are they more important than your well-being?"

"Well... I don't think so..." Irwin said and looked bewildered. "What's your point?"

"My point is..." Rolf said and put a hand on Irwin's shoulder. "That you need rest, a lot of rest, Irwin. You're pushing yourself too hard. And it's not good for you, I can see that." Rolf put his cap on his head and started gathering together the data-slates in front of Irwin. The squat man seemed immensely pained by this.

"Rolf, what are you doing? Just a few more hours and I would've been finished."

Rolf gave Irwin a stern look. "I'll tell Chomaki that he must find some other commissars to do this for him, or maybe an Administratum clerk. But not you, Hendrik!" Seeing Irwin's startled look, Rolf explained. "You need to rest, Hendrik. You've been pushing your body too far and you only have one of that. I have seen how you've changed over the years. I met a slightly plump man six years ago. It was a man with rosy cheeks and a buoyant way. Now, that man has become pasty and grown one big potbelly. I just do this for your best, Hendrik. I do it because I care for your welfare and health, and both have fared ill lately."

Rolf stood up, cradling the many data-slates in his arms. "Come, I'll take you to your quarters, so you can get some well-deserved sleep. I'll dump these in Chomaki's office and tell him to put someone else than you on it."

Irwin got up from his chair, with a little effort and a groan, and shambled after Rolf, who walked with a secure stride. Irwin almost had to jog after Rolf, who seemed to very agitated over the situation at hand. This wasn't made better than that Rolf heard yet another gibe aimed against Irwin. Rolf spun round and fixed the man who'd uttered the insult with a stare that could've cut through adamantium. It was another commissar. Rolf felt disgusted over the fact.

"Rolf, don't..." Irwin advised, but it was too late. Rolf stalked over to the commissar. It was a pug-nosed, blond man in his mid-forties with broad shoulders. Rolf recognised the character. Noble blood from some Hive World, Rolf thought contemptuously. Snooty ass.

"Commissar Grauberger..." Rolf growled, as threatening as a plasma weapon. "Do you enjoy yourself insulting others?"

"Cadet Yarrick, I have no idea of what you're talking about. I just made a fine statement about comrade Irwin's physical state." Grauberger replied indifferently.

"Do you believe I'd take it as such? Do you believe he'd take it as such?" Rolf leaned closer to the man. Grauberger didn't flinch. He looked past Rolf, at the tubby Commissar Hendrik Irwin, who seemed mildly worried over Rolf's behaviour.

"I don't think-" Grauberger began.

"No, you don't think, and that's is a fact of life!" Rolf snapped. Irwin tried to hide his smile over the caustic remark. "Have you become so hardened by battle, that you can't even show simple commiseration towards others? Or maybe the problem is elsewhere? Maybe it's due to the fact that you never have known common soldiery and people well enough to care for them, eh?" Rolf made a rude remark over Grauberger's heritage and his mother's private life.

Grauberger lost some of his indifferent cool, because he went a bit red around the edges. "Now listen you little-"

As Grauberger got up, he noticed how much taller Rolf was than himself. Standing nearly thirty centimetres taller than the broad-shouldered commissar, Rolf Yarrick spread respect around himself. Grauberger faltered and lost his edge towards the two metres fifteen tall man. This was all Rolf needed. "As you seem to have gotten to senses, Karl Grauberger, I give you this to work with." Rolf handed over the dozen data-slates and Grauberger couldn't do more than accept them and sit back down. He put the data-slates on the table he shared with four other commissars. They all looked at Rolf, attentively. Something was not entirely right with this cadet. He wasn't meant to instil such fear in them, was he?

"Chomaki expects those to be done by the time we make the planet fall. Good afternoon, gentlemen."

With that, Rolf left the officers' mess in a march, Irwin ambling after, a new buoyancy to his gait.

Rolf followed Irwin to his quarters and made sure that the short man came to bed. Irwin almost fell asleep as soon as he lay down on his sheets.

After that, Rolf went back to his own quarters and started polishing up his sword. He knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that the mere shine would frighten the followers of the Dark.

"Behold, the might of the Emperor's Imperial Guard!" Chomaki said as he gestured around himself. He and Rolf were standing on a small hill, in the middle of the Callidussian regiments. "Almost brings tears to your eyes, no?"

"Almost," Rolf said, not the least bit amused. He'd seen the scene before, and wasn't impressed. Besides, he was eager for battle.

Rolf was clad in his battle-dress, as was Chomaki. The exception between the two was that Chomaki's uniform was black, where as Rolf's was camouflaged. Chomaki also had the pips of a general; Rolf had that of a cadet commissar. And that Chomaki was equipped with a bolt pistol and a power sword, and Rolf carried a lasgun and the sword of his family.

"Come, Rolf," Chomaki said and walked down the hill. "Now we'll show these scum the might of the Imperial Guard!"

After a short re-brief of orders with the colonels of the regiments, Chomaki played out his plan. The Berzerkers had dug in hard, thanks to the help of local cultists. Chomaki had said they had a name: Kathlas Cult, worshippers of the blasphemy known as Khorne.

With the armoured 25th and the mechanized 27th, Chomaki formed a spearhead with his forces. The light 26th and 28th had the role as flanking parties together with the Sister Sororitas, which were under the command of Canoness Nazerine Almita. The 29th, an ordinarily equipped Guard regiment, with its share of heavies, scout troops and tanks, formed a rear guard as it numbered nearly four thousand soldiers. With the command from the commissar general given, the army advanced.

Rolf, sitting in the rocking belly of a Chimera transport, remembered the briefing just before landfall. The Berzerkers numbered barely a hundred here. The net around Armageddon was closing and, Emperor willing, the Hive World would be liberated within the decade. Rolf looked forward to that. Perhaps he would be present at the liberation of the famous Hive World; perhaps he'd be elsewhere. Who knew?

Looking up, Rolf saw straight into the face of a young Guardsman, not older than himself. Rolf smiled, trying to encourage the man with such a simple emotion. There was no need for words. It seemed to work, because the man brightened up a bit and nodded with a secure face at the commissar cadet.

Now Rolf realized what he meant to the soldiers. And what Chomaki meant to them all. He had been like a father to Rolf, yes, but he was equally as much father to the men of the Callidussian regiments he controlled.

There was a chime in the Chimera transport and the large APC lurched to a halt. Rolf knew what awaited now. The Guardsmen stood up and checked their weapons, pressing their bodies against the hull of the transport. Rolf pulled out his lasgun, a weapon he'd tampered slightly with, giving it a higher discharge. He held it in both hands, just like the Guardsmen around him did.

The back hatch of the transport opened slowly. They all knew to wait. And it was not in vain, as a spatter of lasfire rained into the tank. The turrent of the tank swivelled round and shot a searing blue beam of multilaser fire into the Kathlas ranks. After a few bursts of laser, the large smoke grenades it carried were shot off and gave the eleven transported men a chance to get out.

The squad with Rolf was far from alone. One thousand Imperial Guard stormed out of their Chimera transports. Throwing a look backwards as he ran, Rolf saw perhaps a good dozen of burnt out wrecks of Chimeras and perhaps seven destroyed Leman Russ MBTs. The enemy had support weapons.

Jumping down in a trench, Rolf broke the neck of one cultist with the stock of lasrifle. He exploded five others with quick controlled bursts of his lasrifle and ordered the squad he was with to fix bayonets, fast as frekk. The Chimeras had been closer than they'd calculated.

Rolf pulled out his own, silver gleaming sword and charged against the enemy, lasrifle held one-handed. He knew he was in the thickest fighting, and Rolf found himself delighted over this.

"Let them burn in the very pits of Hell!" Rolf screamed as he thrust forward and speared a Kathlas on his sword. Not bothering to pull it put, Rolf swept round in a wide arch of death, spilling out the enemies entrails on the muddy ground in the trench.

A few minutes later, and they were advancing into the next trench. This kept going as they reached the wall of the city the Berzerkers held. Losses were horrendous to both sides. Rolf knew, however, that Chomaki had counted on this, and that this perhaps was the best way, despite the losses. And still, they'd met no Berzerkers. But Rolf knew better than to contemplate the archenemy's tactics.

Cutting, thrusting, parrying, he made his way towards the city walls, always sure that he had cover to his flanks. There is no better example of textbook stupidity than to go so far that you get cut off from you own forces. He made sure he kept within vox-range, so that he could pick up Chomaki's orders.

If the trenches had been hard, the walls were nigh on impossible. The Guard found themselves being pushed against an enemy that could take everything they threw at them. Rolf felt a tinge of dismay in him over this seemingly impassable point. And it was in this dismay that one of his first 'make-up-as-I-go' battle plans formed. He called up his vox-officer.

"Eaglet to Eagle, over." Rolf called. 'Eaglet' was Guard slang for commissar cadets and Chomaki had found it fun to call Rolf this on missions. He adapted the name Eagle himself, after his looks and his Callidussian name.

"I read you Eaglet." Chomaki's voice frazzled back. Seemed the general used a personal vox-booster.

"The walls are impassable, I repeat, the walls are impassable, over."

"As hell they are! Never say die, Eaglet! Over."

"They are, Eagle. Face it. But I have an idea. Over."

There was a moment of silence before Chomaki's voice came back. "What sort of idea?"

"It's crazy as hell, but it is the only way I believe, sir. I want you to pull back the forces to..." Rolf consulted a chart he had in a coat pocket. "Map section F2-F22."

"Go on."

"Then we call up Major Markere's Basilisks."

Chomaki chuckled over the vox-link. "I like that! Good thinking, Eaglet."

The order was sounded. Without warning, the Imperial forces fell back and gave up a good three hundred metres. The Kathlas forces wondered why this was and sent out eight hundred men to reclaim the trenches the Guard had given up...

...And walked straight into a barrage laid down by the twenty Basilisk support weapons of the Callidussian 25th. The power these guns have and the devastation they make is hard to believe. Each shell weighs a good six hundred kilos and the calibre of the gun muzzles are nearly forty centimetres. Few things can survive the barrage laid down by a Basilisk company. Not even cockroaches. The cannons are capable of hurtling shells beyond the horizon if needed, but when such force is used, the gun platforms have to be steadied on the ground with either special 'legs' or they are dismounted from their Chimera based tank hulls and refitted to the ground and nailed there for good with six centimetre thick bolts.

However, the Basilisks that roared this day had no need of being nailed to the ground. They fired their shells a good two kilometres without problem, blowing the enemy forces in the trenches to bits and razing the walls surrounding the city.

This is what Imperial Guard officers mean when they speak of the Mailed Fist. The armoured might that the Imperial Guard can bring to bear is as effective as a planetary bombardment, as subtle as a sledgehammer.

For an hour the angry roars of prehistorical beasts could be heard; the roar of angry Basilisks. When the barrage finally died away, nothing was left of the city walls. Nor of the Kathlas force sent out to reclaim the ground.

Before the smoke from the shelling had dissipated, the Imperial Guard charged once again, the Sister Sororitas advancing with them. Under the covering fire of Leman Russ Exterminators and Conquerors, the Imperial Guard regiments with their heritage from Callidus, assaulted the city.

Rolf was with his commander and tutor for the first time since they landfall. Rolf's gleaming adamantium sword sliced the Kathlas in two by the ghostly blue sheen from Chomaki's power sword.

Once inside the raised city walls, the Callidussian Guardsmen and the Sister Sororitas met fierce resistance from the Kathlas, who were suddenly joined in by Berzerker renegades. Rolf engaged a squad of Berzerkers head on, whirling and dodging out of the way of their crude chain weapons. His sword passed through helmets and throats, leaving no more than a very deep cut and mortal wounding. Although once Space Marine and now infused with unholy wrath and bloodlust, the Berzerkers didn't stand a chance against the determined young man with the pins of a commissar cadet. Rolf had sworn to the Dark Lord to become his match, and it seemed he was a good bit on the way. Not even the champion leading the squad of renegades stood a chance. After a short combat between the two, Rolf lunged forward, thrusting his sword into the chest of the warrior of blood.

Rolf checked himself. They weren't far from the heart of the city now: the main stronghold of the Kathlas and undoubtly the heart of the taint too. Yarrick and Chomaki pressed on, the two outmatching any opponent they met. Things went smoothly, until the black tower that was the heart of Kiitari Port loomed before them. The defence put up by the Kathlas was tripled, and the Imperial Guard was beginning to feel the press. But Chomaki urged them on, a tremendous charismatic presence amongst the Imperials. Yarrick's presence helped too, of course, but there was something holding together the Kathlas as efficiently as Chomaki and Yarrick held together the Guard. Rolf had a vague feeling he knew what it was.

After two hours of fierce battle, the Imperial Guard finally broke the will of the Kathlas, and the cult fled, the Sister Sororitas chasing after in hot pursuit. But there were still Berzerker elements at large in the city. The battle was far from over...

Rolf slumped down by a wall. His coat was torn and he was covered in blood. No battle he'd ever fought had been this fierce. This was not ordinary behaviour for cultists. They'd held out twice as long as Chomaki had expected. And when they broke, it hadn't been in a rout. It had been a controlled and steady fall back in some way. And the Berzerkers were oddly enough still holding out. Chomaki said he'd expected them to disappear as soon as odds turned against them, but it seemed they were going to fight to the last man... or whatever.

"Taking a breather?" a strangely familiar voice said by Yarrick's side, and Rolf looked round. He saw Irwin sitting there, chainsword in hand, purring.

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep, Irwin?" Rolf growled.

"Perhaps..." Irwin seemed thoughtful. "But something tells me I should be here. I just couldn't sleep. I have a gut feeling something bad will happen, Rolf. And in my case, there's a lot of gut."

Yarrick smiled. Irwin didn't usually pull a joke about himself, so this had to be a real feeling.

"To tell you the truth, Rolf," Irwin said and looked round the corner of the building they were hiding by. "Skuli had the same feeling... And I can only say I don't usually trust that guy..."

Rolf stood up behind Irwin and looked over the tubby man towards the huge black basilica looming before them. "Because he's a mutant?"

Irwin didn't reply to this, and Rolf knew full well why. Irwin was like all other commissars when it concerned Skuli, with Chomaki and Yarrick being the exception for the poor creature. Irwin rejected the creature and was extraordinary open to show this.

"I don't like this..." Rolf muttered, indicating the basilica. "I'll take that building myself, if I have to."

"Be my guest." Irwin said and smirked.

Rolf looked down on the short man. "And you're coming with me, sir."

Irwin looked shocked at the lanky youth, because Rolf was still tall and wiry, despite growing older. He didn't seem to have filled out with the adult muscles that people did. "What did you say, Rolf?"

"You heard me, sir. You're coming with me. Chomaki wants the basilica to be taken by sunset. And that's soon. He'll personally lead an assault form the east."

Irwin gulped. He wasn't afraid of combat, he was a commissar after all, but to run over the street before them was a gauntlet with lethal outcome if you tripped. To get perforated by las-shots was not a good way to go. "I'm no sprinter, Rolf, you know that."

"I san see that..." Rolf mumbled silently. The remark passed Irwin by and Rolf was happy for it. Rolf didn't usually make such remarks, but couldn't hold back this once. Rolf cocked his head suddenly and listened to the incoming vox-traffic in his ear.

"Get ready, sir. Chomaki is about to launch his assault, and we have 27th's 4th company's 5th platoon at our service."

"Makes little difference to me..." Irwin muttered. He sheathed his chain sword and pulled out his hellpistol. "I'll cover you first."

"Sir..."

"No buts. Rolf, when the signal comes, you sprint across and cover me. Vox the soldiers that reach the other side to do the same to their comrades, understood?"

"Sir." Yarrick said and nodded. When Chomaki's signal came, Rolf was up and sprinting across the wide street, reaching the far end the fastest of all. He pulled out his lasgun and went down on his belly. He voxed the members of fifth platoon to do the same as they got over. He put his lasgun on semi-automatic and fired covering fire down the street. Rolf saw a man drop down by the corner of his eye. It was a man in his middle-thirties, thickset but tall and muscled. He was carrying a missile launcher.

"Commissar cadet?" he said as he crouched down beside Rolf.

"Where's your loader?" Rolf asked instinctively.

"Got nabbed by the las," the man said and looked pained. "I just have a few fragmentation missiles left..."

"All we need." Rolf said and got up. He pulled out a frag missile from one of the soldier's ammunition pouches, primed it and slammed it home in the tube-like weapon. "Make them duck, that's all we need, trooper."

"Consider it done, Cadet Yarrick!" the man said and grinned as he aimed the support weapon. As he pulled the trigger, there was a whoosh and a trail of smoke as the rocket went away. It slammed home and screams could be heard from the enemy lines, along with the pinging sound of the ricocheting slivers of metal from the missile.

Rolf turned his head towards the road. He saw Irwin running across the street best he could, and felt nothing but pain in his heart over the man's constitution. It wasn't helped up that a las-shot winged Irwin in the arm, but Irwin kept on moving, determined to get to the other side.

The short commissar sagged to the ground as he reached the other side, clutching his burnt arm. Rolf bent down by him, wanting to examine the wound, but Irwin resisted.

"It's just a flesh wound, leave it be," he groaned, apparently in great pain. "It's nothing, hear me?"

"It's not just nothing, sir." Rolf said and held Irwin firm. By now, the field medic of fifth platoon dropped down by them as well. Rolf gestured to Irwin, and the medic understood. Rolf advanced into the basilica along with two squads of Imperial Guard. With these squads was the missile launcher armed trooper, a man named Ynker, Rolf learned later. He was a courageous fellow, Yarrick felt. So were they all to follow along into Emperor-knows-what that hid inside of the basilica?

He looked around. It was a huge building indeed. But all Imperial iconography had been stripped down. Statues, altar, and curtains: everything carrying Imperial marks. Not an Aquila as far as the eye could see. All covered in the crude scriptures of the Dark tongue. Rolf put back his lasgun and drew his sword with a curt "Cover me." The sword glowed in the murky light that filtered through the black twill curtains. Rolf moved up to one such curtain and touched it with a gloved hand. They weren't entirely black. There was a brown tone to them. Disgusted, Rolf let go of the curtain. It wasn't ordinary toning that had stained the curtains; it was dried blood.

He felt someone by his side and spun round. It was Chomaki.

"These scum, to them, nothing is holy." the powerful, now sixty years old Commissar General growled. He had his power sword drawn too.

Chomaki turned to his men. "Search the basilica. I want to cleanse this Imperial city of the taint of the Dark!"

It must have been some sort of cue, Rolf reflected later. If Chomaki hadn't raised his voice, the Berzerkers would never have known their presence. To Chomaki, this simple show of devoutness would be fatal.

The gore and brass coloured power armour of Berzerkers appeared all over the place. Chain weapons screaming, the fell servants of the Etherdark attacked the Imperials. Ten men of the Guard fell before the initial shock of surprise had dissipated. The Berzerkers weren't more than seven, but it was seven of the best of whatever commander they had here. They butchered the poor guardsmen, threw them aside as limp dolls once their chain axes and swords had done the work.

Yarrick found himself up against worthy foes for the first time in a good while. They put up a good fight, but in the end, Rolf's agility and the keenness of his sword outmatched them. Yarrick had noticed the peculiar glow of the weapon. It shone with an inner grey/blue light, a behaviour it had never had before, Rolf noted. He would soon be educated why this was.

Chomaki fought as good as two Berzerker Honour Guard put together. His power sword ripped open great holes in the thick, ceramic armour of the Berzerkers with ease. Alas, in an unguarded moment, he was knocked to the ground, with the giant red shape of a Berzerker looming over him, a low, guttural chuckle coming from the creature. Its head disappeared suddenly, and the beast toppled forward, Chomaki throwing himself clear. Rolf stood behind; in a stance that suggested that he'd sliced the Berzerker's head clean off.

"Thank you, Rolf." Chomaki said and smiled at the young man, but Rolf's face was set grim. Chomaki barely noticed this and threw himself against the Berzerkers again, unaware that they'd been reinforced...

...Reinforced by mutated comrades-in-arms. The Chosen warriors all sported hideous mutations; taloned limbs, spiny backs, wings. The armour of all of them was buckled in the most grotesque forms due to the bulks of the lesser deamons warping their bodies for their purposes.

Rolf understood why the sword glowed now. It reacted on deamonic presence, at least in his hands. But it was a faint glow, and he doubted anyone else even noticed it.

All of a sudden, the battle died away, as the remaining Chosen and Honour Guard backed out of the fight, extremely peculiar behaviour Berzerkers. There were two mutants, and only one Berzerker Honour Guard left. A sudden clapping of hands, or gauntlets, could be heard, accompanied by a dark, throaty laughter. The voice was seemingly amused.

"Bravo, bravo," it said. "Very good for Imperial maggots, indeed. Especially the Wolf's child." Rolf knew that the voice meant him.

The voice stepped out into view. It was a Berzerker, all right. But he was taller and wider than his servants. He wore a seemingly heavier version of the power armour, but it wasn't tactical dreadnought armour. Rolf would later learn it was designated as Chaos Armour. It was very spiky anyhow, the rune of Khorne etched on the right shoulder pad, the left one blank, as to symbolise his status as Legionless. The helmet had long, curved antlers; the eyes glowed with a sickly, greenish light. In his belt hung a large power axe and a bolt pistol, both weapons distorted by the effects of the Warp.

The champion looked at Chomaki. "You are Commissar General Chomaki, I presume?" he said in an amused tone.

Chomaki stepped forth. "Yes, that is I." Inside himself, Yarrick felt that something was awfully wrong.

"I am known as Fanthragos. Count Fanthragos."

Rolf saw the almost impossibly fast move the Berzerker Count did.

"Sir, look out!" Rolf shouted and threw himself against Chomaki, punching the man out of firing line. Fanthragos' bolt pistol fired in the gloomy light, and Rolf felt how Chomaki's body went limp.

They landed in a heap some bit away, Rolf's powerful thrust throwing them clear of the firing line of the Imperial Guard, who let rip on the renegades.

Rolf paid no notice. His mentor was dying in his lap. The bolt had merely scratched Chomaki's temple, but it had left a horrible gash in the head.

"Sir?" Rolf said, his voice already thick with sorrow. "Don't go die on me, not now!"

"We all go someday, Rolf." Chomaki whispered. "I just run out of luck. But I have had forty eventful years in the Imperial Guard." He coughed blood, and the spittle landed in Rolf's face, but he didn't care.

"Now, listen to me, Rolf, and listen closely. I won't be able to repeat this." Chomaki gasped. "I should've let you go long ago. You proved yourself worthy after one and a half year. I just wanted to see what I could squeeze out from you, and that was much indeed. You're a protective man, I have noticed. The way you want to help Irwin, Skuli... Frekk, every man you meet. But that's a weakness too. Don't ever let the enemy use that weakness, Rolf. That's the only fault I find in you." Chomaki paused. Rolf had heard that Chomaki's Callidussian dialect was coming back. Seemed Chomaki was aware of it too. "Heh, what irony... I fled from my home on Callidus, took a new name and worked away the dialect, just because of a trifle... And now a trifle takes my life, no?" Chomaki went back to topic. "Now, Rolf, Irwin will take care of you when I'm gone. He'll make sure of the formal passing. The Commissariat won't approve, but Irwin is a sly bastard. Trust him to hell and back, I do. No other man I've known is as loyal as him. And, he'll help you to become the greatest commissar ever, Rolf. I promise you that he will, but I need your promise to try, and don't let a thing like this dishearten you..."

"I will. God-Emperor knows I will!" Rolf said and squeezed one of Chomaki's limp hands firmly, but the famous commissar general was already dead. Rolf came back to reality. He heard shooting: the barks of bolters and the dull krak-noises of the lasguns. He heard screams, and sickly enough, laughter. He felt odd on the inside: empty, hollow. Something was missing on the inside. He'd felt the same when Caspar, good old Caspar, had died in his lap, in a very similar manner. But he also felt a force inside him. It was a warm, sweet feeling, but also cold and bitter.

Without thinking, Yarrick grasped the bolt pistol in Chomaki's holster and cocked it. Then he rose and looked Fanthragos straight in the eyes. The Dark Warrior stopped his insane laughter, and his three bodyguards stopped fighting, dumbstruck over the youth in the coat and cap. At least Rolf thought so.

For true, the Dark Ones had been mildly shocked by the sudden force of martial prowess that issued forth from Rolf. It was like a warm blanket, covering all around: an aura of hatred. It was a hatred born from loyalty and servitude, not bloodlust and betrayal. Rolf raised the bolt pistol against Fanthragos' head, muttering underneath his breath. "Never again. I cannot permit thee to live. Therefore, as the Sword and the Hand of the Emperor of Mankind, Blessed be He in His nine-fold glory, I grant thee His punishment at my hand. May some other force absolve your sins, for God-Emperor knows I can not!"

Rolf pulled the trigger twice in quick submission. The first shot blew a hole in the massive helmet armour and the second blew Fanthragos' head clear off his shoulders. Rolf swung the bolt pistol round and repeated the process upon the lone Honour Guard. As he turned to the deamonic Berzerkers, a dull, metallic clack was heard.

The beasts charged him, but Rolf took it easily, discarding the spent bolt pistol. The first was decapitated by a perfect slice of the Yarrickian sword, the second finding its brain pierced by a length of adamantine. As the last deamon-possessed fell, the dull glow disappeared from the Yarrickian Slayer Sword. Rolf wiped the sickly coloured blood of the deamons off on one of their loincloths. Then he took out some polishing-cloth from a coat pocket and wiped it off properly.

After that, he looked around. Four guardsmen were still alive, including Trooper Ynker with his spent missile launcher. He heard voices, far off. One female, another male, both in conversation, both agitated about something.

Rolf sagged down on the ground next to Chomaki's corpse and closed the man's glazed eyes and his open mouth. He looked at the sword in his hand and drew a diagonal slash in his right palm. Clutching his fist tight together around Chomaki's dog tags, Rolf swore an oath that was to follow him throughout his life. "I swear now, in my own blood, as well as the memory of an Imperial Hero, that I won't rest until this realm is rid of the Dark Lord. I won't rest until Lord Kevlinn, King of Berzerkers, is laid to rest. Then first, will I be through with this world."

After tucking the dog tags back inside Chomaki's collar, Rolf wrapped a strip of bandage around his palm and sheathed his sword. He tried to rise, but the ebbing adrenaline made him dizzy.

The voices were closer now. He recognised one as Irwin's. He looked up, and saw the tubby commissar walking along with a tall, slender and handsome woman, dressed in the powered armour of the Sister Sororitas. She had a long, silver gleaming blade sheathed by her side. It was a simple leather strap sheathe, not like Rolf's intricate. She also wore a long, white flowing cloak, lined with gilt embroidery and Imperial litanies. Her face was high cheek-boned and her golden hair was cut in a short haircut, but not as short as Rolf's. Rolf knew instinctively that that was Canoness Nazerine Almita.

She and Irwin walked up to Rolf, where he was sitting.

"God-Emperor..." Irwin mumbled silently as he saw Chomaki's corpse and Yarrick sitting beside it with his eyes full of tears.

"This demands some sort of explanation, I believe," Almita said softly. "Cadet?"

"The Dark Lord..." Rolf muttered forth. "He shall die!"

With that, he passed out from fatigue as the last of the adrenaline kick left him.

Rolf woke with a groan. He was lying on a simple stretcher bed, which meant he was still on Kiitar. He wondered what day it was and checked his wrist-chronometer. He sighed and tried to remember. Eighteen hours ago, his mentor, Amadeus Viktor Chomaki had been alive. Now, the famous Commissar General was yet another name in the Great Book of Fallen Comrades in the Commissariat on Secondus. Looking around, Rolf saw that he was lying in a makeshift infirmary. There were groans and silent crying from nearby cots, where wounded soldiers lay. Rolf got up, and now finally noticed he was wearing only a white singlet and his breeches. He pulled on his mud-caked jackboots and walked out, not bothering to put on his coat and cap. He'd commission new ones, if they were lost.

Walking out into the sunlight, Yarrick felt oddly hollow. The odd feeling hadn't left him. This was victory, but still a terrible loss, not only to Rolf, but also to the entire Imperium. Chomaki had been a great commander. Rolf tried to focus on something else. He looked around the street he was walking in. The civilians that had been kept as prisoners had been freed and taken back to their homes, or whatever was left of them. Some turned and saluted Rolf as he strolled along, but he barely saw them. He was looking at the surroundings. The large, exploded holes in buildings and the black, smoke pillars that rose in the horizon. A fine setting, Rolf thought darkly to himself, a fine setting indeed for the funeral of one of the Imperium's greatest Heroes. He also saw the blankets lined up at even intervals that covered the dead faces and bodies of soldiers. Their relatives would be informed of their loss via a standard pattern letter from the Commissariat, where only the name and personal code were exchangeable. No personal comments, nothing. All so very formal and solemn... Maybe not even that.

Rolf sadly remembered how Chomaki personally had visited his mother when his father had died in the Guard. But he had only done it for his father Sylvester, no other. He even doubted Chomaki had known all of his soldiers by name. Rolf looked down at his right hand. The medics had fixed a better bandage to it, but it couldn't hide its secret from Rolf. Rolf made a silent promise to himself that he would never let any soldier under his command feel expendable. He would make them all count. He'd make this promise to the Emperor, and him alone. Rolf therefore steered towards the basilica, in which he'd lost his mentor.

As he stepped into the building, he was surprised to see it full of light. The blood stained curtains had been torn down and burnt, and new Imperial iconography once more adorned its walls. Some soldiers had painted crude, but unmistakeably Imperial, aquilas on the walls, the paint still wet. Most of the basilica had been turned into a makeshift staff office. There were perhaps a dozen Munitorum clerks milling around and half a dozen officers. Rolf walked amongst them like a zombie, paying no heed to what they said. But one voice tore him from his thoughts. It was Irwin's, and it seemed very upset. It soon was made clear to Rolf whom he was talking to as he walked towards where the voices were coming from.

It was Skuli, the hunched mutant aide that Chomaki had treasured so and he seemed to the aim for Irwin's anger. Rolf watched the dialogue played out before him, in a dazed, apathic way. It was the way of man who had lost close to everything.

"Master Irwin, what are you saying?" Skuli said and looked terrified. He'd pulled back his hood, knowing that he was amongst well-known company. "Is Master Chomaki dead? I can't believe it..."

"He is dead, you nitwit!" Irwin growled. "Why won't you accept that?"

"Because Master Chomaki has cheated death before. I have seen it myself."

"Not this time..." Irwin said and lowered his head. "He caught a bolt in his temple. He died in Cadet Yarrick's lap."

Skuli seemed to finally accept this fact. "But, he was the one who took care of me. I was under his wings... What shall I do now?"

Irwin looked up, eyes blazing. "I for one won't take care of you, bastard! I have always wondered what Chomaki saw in a mutant like you? To me, you're nothing! You're not even worth the cloth you wear, eyesore!" The short commissar took a step closer to the mutant. Skuli huddled together like a scared animal. He knew what he was to expect.

And he was not to be disappointed. The punch that fell on his cheek was going to leave a mighty bruise. Irwin loaded up for another blow, and Skuli braced himself. The blow fell straight in his face and he was thrown backwards, landing hard on his back. What could be called Skuli's nose started to bleed profusely. Irwin's considerable bulk loomed over Skuli.

"When we get back to Callidus, I'll give you over to the Inquisition, you bastard! And there, you get what you truly- GAH!"

Skuli, who'd held his yellow cat's eyes closed firmly, opened one and looked up. He saw the Irwin was held high in the air by the hand of Commissar Cadet Yarrick, who seemed to be anything else than happy. Rolf was clutching Irwin with a firm, choking grip around the man's fat throat.

"Who's the bastard around here, Irwin?" Rolf said grimly. "Skuli wouldn't hurt a fly, and you know that! You know that damn well!"

"It was just a minor misunderstanding, Master Yarrick." Skuli tried to explain. "Matter of fact, I'm quite used that he punches me-"

"Is it usual that Irwin punches you, Skuli?" Rolf asked and threw a sideways glance at the creature.

"Well, yes..." Skuli admitted. "But I have iron tough skin. Doesn't hurt so much."

Rolf nodded slowly and turned back to Irwin, who was going slightly red as he was held in the choking grip. His feet didn't touch the ground, and he had a nasty feeling that he was going to be strangled by his own weight.

"You hear that, Hendrik?" Rolf said softly. "Is it usual that you punch Skuli? And what has he done to you, eh? Was he being indignant? Or was he just born!" Rolf tightened his grip.

"Rolf... you're... strangling me..." Irwin gasped and put his hands on Rolf's in an attempt to loosen the grip, or maybe pull himself up a bit.

"It's Commissar Cadet Yarrick!" Rolf roared. "To even think that I felt commiseration for a man like you! All kind and good to those over you, but you kick down hard, no? Listen now, commissar, I won't let you die like this... But I want you to swear, to the Emperor and Chomaki's memory, that you'll never again bear hand upon Skuli. Hear me?"

Irwin, who had gone purple in his face now, gasped. "I...promise... To the...Emperor, I...promise..."

Satisfied with this answer, Rolf put down the paunchy man and walked away from him. Skuli was soon by Irwin's side, trying to help the gasping commissar into a good position which gave him free breathing. He succeeded after a few tries, and Irwin slowly caught his breath. Then he looked at Skuli with a look with both fear and gladness. After a few moments of hesitation, Irwin stuck out a hand. Skuli grabbed it with his muscly three-digit paw and shook it. Then, surprised at himself even, Irwin hugged the mutant man tight.