Uprising on Mane Primus - Epilogue

Argus stood on the viewport of the Sacrum Pugnus. He leaned on the rail, and fixed his sights on the closed plasteel barrier preventing him to gaze directly into the warp.

Mane Primus.

Argus sighed, and closed his eyes.

He delved into his memories of that world.

***

Argus stood at the entrance of the ruined hab-block, chainsword whirring in his hand. The towering monstrosity of a Chaos Terminator had its back to him. It flicked its chainfist at Boreas, who dodged, but not quite fast enough. The powered teeth bit into the scout. No longer in control of his jump, Boreas crashed into the wall, and slumped to the ground.



The terminator turned around ponderously, aiming his combi-melta at Argus. Argus gunned his chainsword and charged. The terminator shivered, arms flailing. The melta shot went wide. Argus jumped to the right, just in time to avoid the  falling massive armored body. He looked around, dazed. A figure in white stood in front of him.

Well, almost white. The armor was already blackened with dust and soot. The apothecary wrenched his chainsword out of the terminator's back armor joint.

'Argus? Are you alright, son?'

The apothecary's kind, fatherly voice modulated even the harsh vox emitter of his helmet. Argus blinked. He was relieved. He was safe. He staggered. He was... ashamed.

'Apothecary Kristov! Please, help him!'

Kristov was next to the fallen scout in two quick strides.

'Boreas, is it?'

His narthecium whirred, producing a small drill and several piston-driven needles. Dark liquids sloshed in sealed containers. Kristov stabbed into the unconscious scout, and Argus winced. The apothecary was already spraying synthflesh over the wound when Boreas opened his eyes.

'My Emperor?'

'It is only I, son.' replied Kristov, calm as ever. 'Rest. You'll be up on your feet in a couple of minutes.'

Argus slumped. They were all safe, now.

***

Of course, the war did not end with the victory at the palace gates, glorious as it was. The brutal counter-attack of the Imperial Fists drove back heretics and daemons alike, but the astartes are not known for letting their enemy recuperate. Lexandro - having been revived by the administrations of the apothecary - led his forces from the front, as if to balance out missing the initial fight. He harried the ground troops of the Word Bearers, just as the Sacrum Pugnus pounded their ancient warships in orbit. Some made it back to their dropships; most did not. The Fists did not pursue them into the void. They poured over the beleaguered world, ending the heretic rebels wherever they were to be found. No fortress, no city, no bunker or hideout was left standing.

And then, they remained some more, garrisoning Mane Primus, watching over it being rebuilt. They hunted for heresy, all the while directing the fortification of the governor's palace. No rebel army will ever penetrate those walls again!

***

Argus blinked, and his mind was back in the present. Somebody was standing behind him, at the entrance to the large hall. He turned around... and saluted sharply.

'Brother-Captain!'

'At ease, Sergeant. You have earned your rest, brief as it was.'

Argus took the rebuke without further comment.

'I will gather up my squad at once, Brother-Captain. We will resume our training regimen and-'

Lexandro put an arm on his shoulder.

'You misunderstand me, Sergeant. You will indeed gather up your squad, as well the survivors of Beta and Gamma. As soon as we're out of the warp, you will all report to Apothecary Kristov. He is on duty even now, preparing your implants.'

'Our... implants, Sir?'

'Your black carapace, brother! Next time we meet, I expect you to be wearing power armor!'

Lexandro gripped his arm and looked Argus in the eye.

'Good job on Mane Primus, Sergeant. I could not leave another world to fall. Not after Ulpia.'

Lexandro withdrew and nodded. Argus nodded back - he did not trust himself to say anything worthy. The captain left, and Argus stood there, silent. He thought about the war. His moments of doubt. His failures. His squad mates, who had nearly died so many times.

He balled his fists, exhaled, and moved on.

They were Space Marines. War is what they were created for. He would fight on. He would not disappoint his Captain. He would not disappoint his Primarch. And most of all, his Emperor.

For as the Emperor protects, so must we!