"Damn it! Why haven't we crushed that wretched city yet!"
Romans, captain of the Thirty-Fourth Company under the First Great Company, slammed his fist into the command vehicle's cold armour plating. The dull impact was drowned out by the relentless explosions around him.
His crimson Visor remained fixed on the towering Xenos city on the distant horizon.
Its twisted spires flickered in and out of sight amid artillery fire that blotted out the sky, like reefs refusing to bow before a tempest. The Loyalist Faction's resistance was ten times fiercer than he had anticipated.
"Gokbuli..." Romans's voice seethed through clenched teeth inside his Helmet, laden with undisguised contempt and anger.
"He's not fit to command the First Great Company! His tactics are as stupid as a penned-up Ogryn! What can he do besides pile on shells and corpses? A three-year-old could see through his tricks!"
He paced restlessly, his sand-yellow Power Armour leaving deep impressions in the scorched earth.
Primarch Saladin's will had to be carried out. Saar City had to be erased. Every second of delay was a desecration of victory, a challenge to Romans's own competence.
"Captain." A warrior's voice interrupted his fury. Two rebel warriors from his company approached, escorting a figure between them.
The figure's armour was a striking dark grey, but a hideous hole pierced his breastplate, its edges formed of metal that had melted and cooled again.
The flesh beneath the breach seemed to have received emergency treatment and was covered in dark red clotted tissue, but the grievous wound was clearly far from healed.
His power pack had been removed and his weapons confiscated. Energy restraints glimmered at his joints. He had been thoroughly disarmed.
A Word Bearer.
Alive.
Romans's irritation was instantly replaced by a cold interest.
He stopped pacing and turned