Hoplítēs-Sergeant Akhílleios of the 14th Company prepared his spear, it was heavy in his power armored hands, the servos & synthetic muscle coils were starting to give out regardless of maintenance; enough centuries of combat, and fighting against this particular brand of heretic had finally done in the suit’s “bells & whistles”. He made an oath of thanks to the Emperor for a final chance to die with honor in this ragged and crumbling ruin from a time when humanity need not fear the dark. The great beast reared it’s head, due to the armor it wore very clearly the creature had once been amongst the Emperor’s Finest; yet now it served the Ruinous Powers, and most likely had for centuries, the daemonic posession of the variety shown could only happen to the willing. He spit in disgust at just how vile of a Heretic that must be in front of him, the crumbling heraldry on the Warp-twisted former marine’s ruined armor almost looked akin to the Dark Angels chapter.
	
	Akhílleios’s mighty Storm-Shield was close to a thousand years old, “young” by the reckoning of Legion artificers in comparison to other great relics, yet still of great merit and history. The shield had belonged to a legendary Hoplite of the Legion named Phílippos, Phílippos was famous due to a legendary battle against the eldar on Pliny IV in the latter half of M40; singlehandedly decapitating the enemies warseer with a solid bash with mighty shield’s rim, shearing the Warseer’s wraithbone sword in half, the act of the kill itself was humiliating to the Eldar that survived to run away, reminding them eternally of the wrath the Legion could visit upon them. Akhílleios grunted, remembering fondly the colossal shield’s history and the great honor he bore in carrying it; drawing strength from this, he breathed in deeply and let loose with a roaring war cry of: “For the Stormlord & the Imperium!” and charged headlong at the warpspawn. It chittered maniacally from one of it’s three mouths and screamed “Your corpse emperor will not save you, there are more of us than you could possibly imagine!”. He could nearly taste the foetid stench of corruption from his position, even while rapidly closing the distance.
	
	Soon, the powered tip of his mighty spear slammed through the hideous & warp twisted abominations’ chest cavity; lifting the spawn off of the ground and carrying it with sheer momentum from the very force of Akhílleios’s zealous resolve. A sickening crunch echoed through out the chamber and dust from the ancient conrete structure spewed forth as the foul beast was pinned to the wall. “You think killing me will stop the march of the Dark Gods? IT IS THEIR WILL TO CONSUME ALL THAT YOU HOLD DEAR!” it shrieked. Akhílleios proceeded to beat the once-marine into a grotesque paste with his mighty shield merely out of principle; following the significantly surprising show of strength from the rapidly tiring Hoplite-Sergeant,  the servos in his suit’s left arm began to whine. Akhílleios knew what might happen, having ran out of ammunition weeks ago, many of his brothers had resorted to doing things “The Stormlord’s Way”, and to great effect; some of them captured traitor weapons, or were using the relatively under-manned PDF regiment’s heavy weapons in place of their most sacred implements of exacting the Stormlord’s will with .70 caliber impetus.
	
	Several of Akhílleios’s Hoplítēs-Brothers ran down the corridor, similarly armed; one had a rather surprisingly large M37 Èpsilón Pattern Power Axe, that had to be Hoplítēs-Sergeant Anáxarkhos & the rest of II Squad. “Stormlord be praised, doing this alone may bring honor to his name through our trials; but I find it safer to have brothers of the spear by my side.” Anáxarkhos’s chuckle rattled out through his helmet, “Yes, but these ruins alone are a testament to mankind’s folly before the Stormlord’s light & wisdom enlightened us all.” The assembled marines clacked spear haft against shield and said an invocation of sorts “The Stormlord’s path is the Truth and the Way; honor to him & may his lightning guide the way.” They cracked the pointed caps of their spear hafts against the millenia old concrete almost as a way to rattle off the invocation into the heavens. Anáxarkhos cleared his throat, then said “We’ve cleared floors one-through-twenty, our brothers are having issues in the sub-floor; Librarian Philiwurgos believes this structure was once a space port before both the Men of Iron & the Age of Strife.” Akhílleios nodded, then pointed his crackling power-spears’ haft down the corridor a nexus of hallways; his helmet’s infared vision setting helped in the darkness to a degree, his autosenses handled the rest.
	
	The ad-hoc squad of marines moved forward, with Brother Themistoklís carrying one of the scavenged/salvaged mounted Reaper pattern Autocannons the techmarines had reconfigured for marine hands. Brother Themistoklís was at the center of the formation as it moved corridor to corridor, killing whatever heretics, cultists and mutants this colossal structure seemed to hide in it’s depths. Eventually, the unit of Marines came to one of the auxillary port entrances. This had either been for maintenance, or to be used as a secondary dock-site in lieu of small cargo craft being incapable of using the primary colossal string of docks in low orbit all those millenia ago. Hoplítēs-Sergeant Anáxarkhos indicated with a helmet signal to move forward with Themistoklís’s reaper covering the approach. Themistoklís cycled the colossal action of the Reaper as it’s APIT ammunition read as ‘chambered’ on his helmet’s display, the squad moved forward for just a short while; keeping a close eye on their surroundings before a stacato of fire from a stubber tore out from a mound of rubble, one of the traitor guardsmen screamed some obscenity in an unintelligible language and kept firing away. The heretic continued to fire, even though the ammunition was just ricocheting or impacting to no effect against the squad’s armor. Several other positions opened up on them, a combination of autogun & lasgun fire rippled out and lit up the enormous docking bay. Hoplítēs-Sergeant Anáxarkhos bellowed out an order of “FORWARD! Let your shields take the impact!”. 
	
	The strange realization that the heretics were running just as low on supplies as the Imperial forces were hit home for Akhílleios after firing off a burst from a captured Agripiina pattern autogun. He realized the ammunition the enemy was using was reloaded behind their lines; the stink from the propellant was a unique kind of dirty he had only encountered when putting down a group of tithe-dodging traitors alongside the Cadians on a campaign over a century ago. Themistoklís’ Reaper thundered away, spilling open the guts and ichor of four or more of the traitorguardsmen; after a few more bursts of heavy fire the floor rattled with colossal brass casings from every step. Within the hour, the company or so of ill-equipped traitorguardsmen died at the hands of the Space Marines, via spear or from captured weapons. Akhílleios’s vox unit clicked on and a transmission advocating a regroup for several of the PDF & Marine scout units by Brother-Archigós Odusseús to pull in the reconnaissance squads and form a set of chokepoint control zones between the Heretic forces and the Stormlord’s chosen within the colossal structure. From the back of the formation, Brother Ephisseús cleared his throat and said “Anything that the Heretics haven’t ruined, we should grab; the techmarines and artificers ought to be able to do something with it.” Both Akhílleios and Anáxarkhos agreed and delivered the order to both of their squads. The battle ended in what was tantamount to a salvage operation and a cleared position that could eventually function as a forward outpost, eventually.