Lord Commander Erus..

---Roughly 1 housr IST (Imperial Standard Time) later ---

Warning klaxon's began to blare in the launch deck, and a startled tech adept looked up just in time to see a ceramite shod foot, part of a massive form in like clad, connect with his oiled brass head, augmetic vision amplifiers splintering and sharding in a shower of sparks as he was sent skidding across the deck.

Unapologetic, the jet armored figure marched on, it's shoulderpad glaring with the winged skull of the Black Saints Astartes, the masters of the Adept. Rank after rank crunched by, bolters and other various weapons of destruction clenched to their chest or belted to their sides. Litanies of faith and battle were freshly scrawled on the ornate godwyn bolters, and still cooling wax affixed purity seals and battle oaths alike to the armor and weaponry of the titan like figures.

The adept lay frozen, never knowing what his remaining picto-imagers were recording would one day be hallowed legend to the Astartes. A full strike squadron passed him, not counting the Ancient of Rites, the Venerable Dreadnought Seneca. Marching besides the ancient warrior-machine, was the Prelate Antonious.

His helm was crafted wholly from the skull of a Chaos Sorcerer he beheaded, and circling about it were all 13 of the runes of castigation, surmounted by a waxen sigil of warding. In his hands he carried a massive crozier's the size of an eviscerator, and slung about his chest in a bandoleer that rested at his hip was a custom artifice pistol that was fed by ammo marked and blessed by the Prelate himself. And rising about his back was the slim form of mechanically grafted wings, folded tight against the chaplains power armor.

His armor was black as the void of space, and not a single reflection seemed to escape it's austere surface. With a whirring, clattering sound, the adept zoomed in, and was shocked. The Chaplains armor was etched with prayers over every inch, so small the naked eye could barely see them as much but scribbles. His logic circuity produced a rough estimate of the probable amount of scripture: the entirety of the Litanies of Faith, Hate, and Battle, as well as a probable 64.7% of the Purification and Warding rituals.

Over all, the man terrified the adept, and what little flesh he had was taken with clammy sweat. Here marched a being of antiquity, massive even for a member of the Adeptus Astartes. One could nearly feel the zealous faith raging beneath the surface. But what scared the sprawled mechanicum servant even more was the ice cold rage and contempt.

Following the first Chaplain, and given a wide birth, came the bone chilling sight of the Epistolary Remus. Carried by a hulking servitor was a sword almost three fourths the size of a regular man, wrapped with multitudes of purity seals and holy bindings, some randomly bursting into flame as he marched. Clutched in his hand, drawn and cocked, was a worn looking bolt pistol, the faint etchings of a long dead Imperial Guard regiment above the ejector slide, which eeked blue witch-light.

The worse thing about the crimson cloaked figure was perhaps the milk-white eyes of his leonine face, showing the blindness caused by the incident on Armageddon. But the warp-flames that coruscated and shimmered forth from them were the talk of any of those who saw him with the 'crying helm' he wore clipped at his hip. They said he could still see, thanks to the damning power of the warp. They also said that his gift of sight would drive him incurably insane.

He again, bore the same jet black armor and lithe mechanical wings that the first chaplain bore. although to these, as with most of him, an eerie aura of blue warp flame flickered and wavered about him. And dangling at his hip was the crying helm, blazing gold and wrought into a mournful face, the eye slits hollowed out and left with no lenses. Carefully set on the left side of the helm, in the form of a teardrop, was a single fiery ruby.

Behind them all came a sight that made a tear trickle from the one human eye of the young adept, mixing with oil leaks from his crushed augmetics. Adonis, striding at battle-march pace behind the 1st Aequitas squad armored in their famed terminator armor. Thunder hammers hummed with energy, and lightning claws shone and shot off sparks and trailed the smell of burnt ozone.

The adept reached up a barely fleshed arm to try and re-connect the wires of his pictogrammic eye, to capture the glorious tactical dreadnought plate. It was this slight movement that stopped Adonis, and in his halting he noticed the adept, the cruel boot mark on his face, the oozing blood-like oil, and the furious spark showers coming from the pictographic eye as it tried to furiously reconnect wires.

Crouching, Adonis hauled the adept up as gently as his rage filled form could. Upon seeing the reverence and the immediate attempt at a low bow, despite a grinding growl of servo-motors.

The angelic face, with high angular cheekbones and alabaster skin, seemed to leap from the frescoes of the Hall of Legends back on Baal. Icy white-blonde hair was tied back in a complicated topknot that was in turn braided down the back of his scalp to allow the ancient crusade era helmet he bore, the laurel wreath upon his brow preserved forever in adamant metal.

"Arise Adept.. Your kind is honored this day. The dedication and wisdom of you Scions of Mars has brought me the means to vengeance. I thank you..."

Stammering, the adept remained half slumped as Adonis whirled, his jet black cape rippling in the wind to reveal a mysterious symbol that he vainly tried to pict-capt. It was different from the crimson cape with the chapter icon, and bore a simple winged skull of gold, crying a fiery red tear. As the cape rippled, a mighty sword at his side was revealed. Avantar, the sword that was said to be forged from Sanguinius own blade, the gem said to have been from a circlet the Primarch wore in the defense of Terra.

Hatch locks hissed and pneumatic pistons slid down boarding ramps as each squad filed into the scarlet and jet drop pods. For a moment, the adept allowed himself a swell of pride at his servitors work. Each pod had been fitted with custom made and altered drill bore bits, designed initially for clearing away collapsed bulkheads within the ship. Built with auxiliary power fields in place, and crystalline amplifier tips, to focus the fields to a pin point, they would slice through the hull of any ship now.

Affixed to the top of the pod were twinned land speeder engines, held in place by reinforced pintle mounts. With those engines, the pod would have limited manuverability to and from the ship. Not the best work , the Adpet though to himself but by the Omnissiah it will serve!