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[DTdante2787]

A feeling of intense, searing pain met the Space Marine as He regained consciousness. The last thing He remembered was being locked in mortal combat with a sea of Orks, standing shoulder to shoulder with His brethren in the Crimson Fists. His hands went to the gaping wounds in his flesh. The sound of metal scraping against itself pierced his ears as his gloves caught on the immense, jagged holes where gunfire had penetrated His power armor. No stranger to death and destruction, He immediately surmised that the wounds were grievous, if not mortal. It was at that moment that the marine realized something: He no longer had a pulse. "Am I dead?"

Perplexed, He scanned His surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a cave of red stone. Heat emanated from all around him. Skulls littered the area, as well as varied pieces of armor from numerous races and even weapons. Alive or dead, so long as He was moving, the marine would fight for the Emperor. Slinging His Bolter over His shoulder, the Marine searched the immediate area for weapons and equipment. His search yielded an Eldar sword of exquisite design. Though not keen on using Xeno weaponry, He would have to conserve ammunition. Using what scraps of armor He could find, the Marine also did his best to repair his own armor.

The marine moved forward down the tunnel. As He walked, unsettling screams could be heard echoing through the maze of tunnels. This coupled with the swirling thoughts and questions surrounding his very presence in such an unholy place would have broken a lesser man. Years of fighting for the Emperor however had forged a strong, unbreakable will. He knew not why He was in this hellish place, simply THAT He was there. His mission would stay the same: purge the xeno, burn the heretic. His sharp ears picked up sounds of movement ahead. Bolter in one hand, sword in the other, He cautiously skirted the wall. An authoritative voice pierced the silence. "HALT!"

No less that five Space Marines, also in battle damaged power armor, had their Bolters leveled on Him. "Identify yourself!" Barked a marine in the armor of the Black Templars. "I am Brother Statham of the Crimson Fists, loyal servant of the Emperor." "How can we be sure you have not been corrupted by Chaos?" The Templar prodded. "You can't...neither can I be sure of your loyalty, fellow son of Dorn." "Fair enough. I am Brother Constantine of the Black Templars. Over there are the twins Romulus and Remus of the Dark Angels. We also have Brother Sven of the Space Wolves and Drake of the Blood Angels." Statham smiled. "Let me guess, none of you have a pulse either." Constantine nodded. "We are all dead men, still in service to the Emperor. I was the first to find himself here. I have a feeling, you won't be the last." Sven chuckled. "We Space Marines don't die...we just regroup in hell." For the first time since He had arrived, the Crimson Fist laughed heartily, despite the grim situation. "Forward then, Space Marines!" Constantine barked.

What was before them, none of them knew. Were they themselves heretics? Only the Inquistion could answer that. But they would seek out and destroy the enemies of the Imperium until they could no longer fight.