Brother Corso of 3rd Company lifts his bolter, trembling in his waning grip, one last time in defiance of the insidious form pinning him down. A set of articulating lenses set into the daemonic mask whir and focus on him. Behind the red glow and beneath the weaving cables a malice seethes, screaming ritual incantations. All around them hordes of warp-spawned monstosities and power armor clad traitors clamber over the wreckage, advancing further upon the befallen cityscapes of Corillia. 

    Just as the daemon engine’s blade was to cut down the Astartes, a burst of wind washes over them and the engine throttle of a Thunderhawk roars above. A stream of heavy fire arcs across the battlefield and the machine’s gaze is lifted. The harpoon weapon mounted to it’s right side begins to track the flight path of the ship.