Chapter Fifty-Two: Angels Have Always Descended from the Heavens

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Jose jolted awake from his sleep, leaping out of bed at the abrupt, all-too-familiar sound—automatic gunfire.

Swiftly, he reached under his bed for a laser pistol, a relic from his days serving in the Astral Corps. More than once, this pistol had saved his life; Jose had long considered it his lucky charm.

Moving soundlessly, he crept to the door, easing it open just a crack to peer out at the street.

Out in the street, a mob of cultists smeared with grotesque, blood-painted sigils were locked in a ferocious firefight with the soldiers of the Planetary Defense Force. Streams of bullets from automatic weapons tore through the air, ricocheting off buildings, sometimes piercing the thinner walls and wounding or killing the civilians hiding within.

The street was awash with the stench of blood and gunpowder, the anguished cries of the townsfolk drowned beneath the relentless thunder of gunfire.

Under the overwhelming assault of the cultists, the Planetary Defense Force was faltering. One by one, the soldiers fell beneath the cultists’ automatic rifles.

Directly across from Jose’s window, a cultist leveled his gun at the head of a wounded young soldier, preparing to fire. Around him, other cultists cheered him on, unleashing wild volleys of gunfire at the remaining defenders.

Jose took in the scene, raising his laser pistol. His aim locked onto the cultist about to execute the soldier. Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger.

A searing beam lanced out, striking the cultist in the skull and vaporizing his brain in an instant.

The sudden flash of laser fire turned all eyes to Jose’s room. In a heartbeat, a hail of bullets smashed into the walls where he had just stood, but Jose, anticipating the response, had already darted out into the ruins.

The cultists’ fusillade found only empty air. Now, Jose crouched amid the rubble of a shattered building, eyes fixed on his enemies as he lined up another shot.

Another blast of laser fire, another cultist fell.

Jose quickly shifted position, just as another storm of bullets tore apart the spot he’d just left.

So it continued. Hidden in the shadows, Jose stalked his foes, his lucky laser pistol claiming one cultist after another.

“May the God-Emperor protect me,” Jose murmured, releasing another shot and sending yet another enemy into the void.

His presence enraged the cultists. The notion of an enemy lurking in the dark, refusing to face them openly, was more than they could bear. In their fury, they sprayed the streets with wild gunfire, desperate to flush him out.

Jose now sheltered beneath the toppled statue of the Emperor, bullets whistling overhead. Gazing up into the statue’s stone eyes, he silently recited his prayers, pleading for the Emperor’s protection.

As he whispered the sacred words, his thoughts drifted back to his retirement from the service. His old commander had urged him to remain on the planet they had conquered, to settle with his brothers in arms. Had he stayed, Jose would have become a noble of the Empire, granted his own fief and a title—a life of comfort and prestige.

But Jose had refused. He wanted to return to his homeworld, to Holy Terra, the closest place to the God-Emperor.

“Why go back to Terra?” his commander had asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay here on Mors as my Planetary General, enjoying wealth and honor with the rest of the brothers?”

“I want to return to Terra,” Jose had replied. “Even if it means giving up riches and glory, I want to be closer to that sacred light.”

His commander had been baffled. “Didn’t you always say you’d be content just to be Planetary General?”

“Because I want to be closer to the light,” Jose had answered simply.

So, after his retirement, he returned to Terra. With Richard’s help, he found work as a factory assembler in the hive city of his youth.

It wasn’t that Jose shunned wealth and honor; he simply longed to be closer to the holy light that dwelled within his heart.

Now, his thoughts returned to the present.

“May the God-Emperor protect me,” he whispered again to the statue.

His laser pistol was nearly depleted. Jose drew the standard-issue monomolecular bayonet from his belt, reciting the Emperor’s prayer as he stepped from cover, prepared to sell his life dearly against the cultists.

Moments before, he had seen among the corpses in the street the bodies of Richard and his family—all four slaughtered by the cultists. Their blood had been daubed on the walls, forming a crimson, eight-pointed star.

Now, Jose stood before the cultists, bayonet leveled in challenge. His defiance was unmistakable.

Enraged, the cultists dropped their firearms, drawing all manner of bizarre melee weapons as they began to encircle him.

“Let me serve you one last time,” Jose prayed silently to the Emperor as the cultists closed in.

With a sudden burst of speed, Jose lunged at the nearest cultist, the monomolecular blade effortlessly severing his head.

The others, seeing their comrade’s death, rushed in even faster. Jose gripped his bayonet tightly, ready to offer his soul to the Golden Throne.

But then, a tremendous roar filled the sky. Jose and the cultists alike looked upward, to where a colossal transport hovered above the hive’s dome.

Suddenly, several dark shapes dropped from the craft, growing larger as they plummeted toward the ground—until, finally, they resolved into human forms.

With a heavy thud, one landed nearby, a splash of still-warm blood striking Jose’s face.

Stunned, Jose stared at the towering figure before him. He had expected to die for the Emperor this day, but now…

“Angels of Death… The Emperor’s Angels of Death!” Jose’s heart surged with awe.

Three meters tall, encased in power armor, wielding fearsome bolters—these were the Emperor’s Angels of Death, the mighty Space Marines.