With a nod, a stationary apothecary rushed over to Dorian, who gurgled something and pointed weakly at the limp form of Remus as the spider like limbs of the narthecium began their work. Bending, Antonius retrieved his crozius from where it had fallen and replaced it in his belt loop, beginning to walk through the wounded forces of his own Chapter, stopping here and there to clasp the hand of a dyeing marine, or offer a benediction or praise to another. The Black Saints had suffered this day, but had emerged victorious. But at what price, he wondered, as he turned his head back to look at the fallen form of his friend. At what price to Remus, and the noble warriors own sanity?
Shaking his head, Antonius slid back on the skull faced helm that was hooked at his hip, waiting for the hiss of the seals to sound before stepping up onto the assault ramp of the massive thunderhawk.
Remus followed shortly after, and even sedated beyond moving and in stasis, his brother marines gave their Chief Librarian a wide berth, eying him as one might a pet dog that had contracted rabies and turned upon the family, though no such sin had been committed. Again, the First Chaplain watched the scene with sorrow in his heart for his maddened brother, and wondered... At what price had victory came? |