Tarphus stood at attention without his troops; to his left were the two other lieutenants who earned the honor of hosting the Tech-Priests. In front of them was the Regimental Commander, who glared at them like they had kicked his dog.

"I will not beat around the bush here; I expect you three to die; as for why, well, that is simple." The glaring Commander's gaze softened as he looked between the three lieutenants. However, the eyes of the Commander seemed to hold pity when he looked at Tarphus, which made Tarphus feel extremely worried.

"The three of you will be leading this assault; you are to land at the spaceports without further backup until the threat of Anti-Air is knocked out. After that, you grunts get a few top-priority missions as your fellow newbies get to push out from the secured ports."

At that, the Commander glanced at Tarphus with another look of pity. "To that end, two of you will land at one port. The other will hold out until the others break through the blockade around them."

One of the lieutenant, Thyme Trusko, if Tarphus remembered correctly, raised his hand warily. The Commander nodded at him, allowing him to speak. "Sir, why us, moreover, who will be alone?"

The Commander paused as he mulled over the question, "The Tech-Priests would be invaluable in defensive action at the starports. They can activate the defense turrets if safely brought to the correct terminal. Speak to your Tech-Priests for further information."

Tarphus felt his stomach sink; he knew he was the one alone; he was, after all, third place, and they only needed one port. The looks of pity also supplied Tarphus with this notion. However, Tarphus's gut feeling was soon justified as the Commander spoke again.

"Lieutenant Cullivan, it will be your task to hold the westmost port while the others take the Northern Port." The other lieutenants looked at Tarphus with a mix of pity and relief. Neither wanted to do it; at least that was what Tarphus reasoned.

Then again, Tarphus always seemed to be on the defensive when facing an enemy. However, if he could hold out, he might go on the offensive after this time, but it is much easier to keep his troops alive in a defensive battle.

Tarphus raised his hand to ask, to make sure that he was placed near death for a reason. "Sir, why was I chosen?" The Commander winced before replying. "Your commanding officer suggested that you and your platoon would be the perfect choice for this task... the others agreed."

It sounded as if the Commander regretted sending Tarphus alone, but the Commander shook his head before saying. "After you survive your defensive action, you and your troops will be under my command."

Tarphus felt impudent rage as he looked at the Commander. What kind of consolation was that? He and his troops would be gunned down repeatedly, but all the Regimental Commander "could do" was a promise that he might be treated better?

Tarphus felt his heart quicken and his fists clenched as the Commander turned towards the other two to give them their mission details. Tarphus's blood boiled as he imagined the swift and brutal death of the Commander choked out by Tarphus's bare hands.

Tarphus felt his rage churn into pure hatred; it was intense, like a raging inferno that burned his insides, blood rushed to his ears. His mental snarl threatened to distort his face.

It took a second for him to bring himself back under control; taking a deep breath, he turned to the map.

Tarphus looked at the map as he started strategizing.

First, he would have to talk with the Tech-Priest about the defenses they could activate.

Second, due to the limited number of troops, he would be able to field the enemy would prioritize him before cracking his allies.

Focusing back on the topic at hand, Tarphus was glad that the Regimental Commander did not say "if." Tarphus knew this would be an uphill battle.

The number of enemies he would face was nothing to scoff at; Tarphus narrowed his eyes at the display.

However, Tarphus was also confident in his abilities as a commander and his troops' level-headedness. By the Emperor, he had fought hundreds if not thousands of orcs. So, some regular humans would be a walk in the park compared to that hell.

Tarphus realized his jaw was clenched; he blinked, so too his fist. Why was he so wound up over a simple defense mission? He had repeatedly fought defensively since the trial. Tarphus resolved to get more rest in the future.

"Alright, that is all. Any further questions?" The Commander's question snapped Tarphus out of his inner turmoil. When no one responded, the Commander nodded before extending his hand toward a door.

The door swiftly opened with three crewmates entering the room before standing at attention. "They will take you to your ships. The Emperor will have his prize, and you will have your glory."

Tarphus turned toward the crewmate who stood right in front of him. "I will go first to my troops; I need to debrief them." The look of surprise briefly flickered onto the face of this worker, but they nodded, and in a mere fifteen minutes, Tarpuhs found himself inside a dropship with his platoon.

The flight was longer than the time it took to debrief the troops about the responsibility that was tasked to them. It was almost cathartic to hear the amount of bitching that the soldiers had.

However, it would not do for them to think they could complain on the ground, at least in front of superiors. Even Tarphus believed this was a bit of bull, but all he could do to display his displeasure was remain silent as his troops complained.

The weasel was so smug as he and his little possie strutted unto the ship, and Tarphus had no idea why. The Tech-Priest's plan was more important than a sniveling coward in Tarphus' eyes.

Speaking of the Tech-Priest, they spent most of the time looking over something called a "Data-Slate."

It was akin to the tablet that Willowghast once showed him, and its function was much the same but with some significant additions.

Though Tarphus could not tell what they were, the Tech-Priest only told him that it was necessary.

But, after a few minutes of fiddling, the Tech-Priest started to talk to Tarphus and started to detail the plan for the occupation of the starport.

The Tech-Priest did have a plan that did not merely hold the fort. There was a defense matrix within the port. It would give the Tech-Priest access to the supply locker, which contained many weapons and ammo.

Furthermore, the matrix had an automated defense system, which controlled many turrets.

Both were great, but that being said, they needed to get to the matrix. Moreover, they needed to take the matrix away from those who held it.

So, They had to fight through the turrets to take them from the enemy while also keeping the turrets alive as the enemy might see what they were doing and try to destroy the turrets themselves.

Tarphus felt this might be a stupid task, but the Tech-Priest insisted it would be worth it. When he was going to press the Tech-Priest about the plan, Tarphus saw the fear in his friend's eyes.

Tarphus also did not have a better plan for the siege, so he would follow his friend's suggestion for now. The ride to the next battle was surprisingly smooth. The silence between him and his troops was amicable for both parties.

This silence did not mean that Tarphus just stood by, but he trusted his troops enough not to be too harsh. The mountain of ammo boxes gave Tarphus some small comfort on what was coming up.

The troops were nervous, to which Tarphus empathized; he never liked the wait before the battle. The silence rang in his ears, growing louder and louder over time.

It gave him time to remember the thundering of artillery rang in his ears, replacing the deafening silence as his mind was brought back to that hellish place.

He remembered the heat and the muck of that desolate place; his eye burned as he recalled how he lost it. He remembered that smug grin from that bastard who ripped his arm off.

Rage and melancholy that is all he felt when reviewing his failures. It burned him to know the shame he displayed early on, but the thought that he might do so again hurt him even more profoundly than anything else ever could.

...

After a few hours, Tarphus felt the ship shake, and he knew that they had breached the planet's orbit. Though just the thought that he was in yet another world boggled his mind, that was not important. He had to keep his men safe.

--- Checkpoint reached ---

Tarphus looked at the notification with surprise, then nodded to himself; he did not want to repeat the "award ceremony" again.

He and his troops stood right in front of the large doors that would dropdown. It was a strange way to create a door, the ones he knew swung outwards or inwards, but this one became a ramp for the troops to get out quickly.

The door opened slowly, so slowly that it made Tarphus' skin crawl; it was as though time itself was stretching before him. He did not know what was behind the door, but he needed to ensure that his troops would be fine.

The doors finally opened after what felt like ages. Then, into utter silence, it seemed that no one was there. Tarphus immediately set about ordering his troops forward.

The enemy might not know where they were now, but that would soon change.

What met Tarphus's eyes upon exiting the transport was a wide-open space, a sort of landing pad.

He felt fear as he looked over the side below into the Hive City proper; Tarphus even felt himself lean towards the abyss as he stared. Why was he so high?

Tarphus then pulled himself back before looking at his troops. Next, he called out for the tube-wielding heavy weapons team and the rocket teams to guard the platform until the port was secure.

While the rockets might have been helpful, Tarphus did not believe using them in close-quarters combat would be good.

Furthermore, the tube confused him, but the team told him that the enemies further afield would be crushed if they were in an open space.

After getting the enemy's location and having the time to aim at them, they promised Tarphus that the rest would sort itself out.

This confused Tarphus, but he would never say so out loud; Tarphus would not dare to gainsay them as long as they worked.

While explosives were handy in any situation, Tarphus felt that the slow weaponry of the two groups would be more hazardous than beneficial.

Besides, two Hive Cities went rogue, and they might have air support, so this platform needed to be secured.

The thought of friendly Hive Citys lending support to the effort did not even cross Tarphus' mind as he took the rest of his troops into the elevators.

There were three small ones and a large middle one; it was big enough to store the entire platoon at once. So it was the obvious choice.

When Tarphus and the others go into the tight confines of the large metal box, Tarphus felt some trepidation as he stood in the metallic coffin.

The Tech-Priest looked at Tarphus, its eyes burning as it pointed at a dome-shaped object on the ceiling.

"These allow the enemy to see us, but they are not for listening to conversations over distances. That is for other creations of man. This one will get the elevator moving but know that the enemy will know of us now."

Tarphus was confused, "Why not destroy it now? If the enemy can see us through such devices?"

The Tech-Priest shook their head as they walked to a small holo-pad on the elevator's entrance.

"That would confirm the enemy's suspicion; this one will be a new Tech-Priest with an escort of a platoon stationed here to help fix the coms relay that went down three weeks ago."

Tarphus grew even more confused, "Their coms relay went down; why didn't I hear about-" The Tech-Priest created a slight metallic clacking sound before stating.

"The lieutenant was not notified because the lieutenant did not need to know; it was not relevant until now."

This breach of trust angered Turphus; he was supposed to know the variables and use them to aid his troops. Yet his friend did not give him such vital information.

"What about the weapons teams?" The Tech-Priest looked at him like he was developmentally disabled. "They are not allowed near the delicate and holy wirings of the cogitators. This one believed the lieutenant knew that? Or did the lieutenant think they could secure the Pad for a quick escape?"

Tarphus felt enraged at his friend for making him play the fool; the creatures behind the Tech-Priest stood in eerie silence, their eyes glazed over, staring at him with those baleful globes filled with contempt.

Tarphus said nothing more about the event; he just kept that thought in his mind, as he did not need to be further humiliated in front of his troops.

He was thankful that the soldiers decided not to rebuke him. Instead, they fixed their gaze around the giant can they found themselves in.

No one talked as the Tech-Priest worked on the Holo-Pad; Tarphus looked at his troops and noticed that the weasel was missing.

So, the brat and his cohorts are cowards; this made it far simpler for Tarphus. If he survived this mission with his sanity intact.

Tarphus's eyes widened as he looked around for the standard, and when he could not find it, he cursed himself.

That was his honor on the battlefield, a thing to rally his troops, but the scum had taken it away.

Rage filled Tarphus as the Tech-Priest silently communed with the Holo-Pad.

His symbol, his crest, was emblazoned onto that standard, his father's status, and his mother's pride!

Tarphus felt disgusted that he allowed cowards to touch that battle standard with their grubby little paws.

Beasts, vermin, insects, the cowards were worse than those, yet Tarphus allowed them to handle the standard that his family bled for?

Bile threatened the sanctity of Tarphus's mouth as he felt his stomach churn with utter rage.

The elevator slowly lowered itself; it crawled as gears stirred to life, rusted, seemingly useless pistons grew agitated with their erratic movement.

Tarphus felt as though he needed to destroy something, anything, as the weathered contraptions above whined in protest to the stubborn downward trek towards the battle.

Each second added more and more weight to Tarphus as he looked at his troops.

He remembered how slow the door opened and closed, and he recognized how he and his troops could be led into a funnel, like goblins through trenches.

If the enemy were to set up a heavy autogun, they would die like grass in a forest fire... dried grass at that.

That is what he would do if he were the enemy. It would be the perfect Killzone.

Tarphus reasoned that the enemy did not know his mission. Therefore they would not simply gun him down, at least not until they make sure that he and his troops are inside away from prying eyes.

Tarphus hated waiting around as the grinding; mechanical chorus cursed him for running into danger without a plan.

Tarphus looked over at his troops with a black expression as he recalled the memories of the blasted field where he had lost his innocence and barely escaped with his sanity.

He remembered when his squad was torn apart limb from limb. The general hum grew into a cacophony; by the Emperor, why won't this accursed thing move any faster?

The smells of rust made Tarphus nauseous as he recalled the aftermath of many orc melees.

He felt shame run through him as they could not even bury the bodies of those that had sacrificed themselves.

It felt so wrong; he did not feel this before, but when he thought back on the dead and dying... Tarphus clenched his fist.

They, no, HE left those bodies unburied; it was him who led the charge countless times.

Tarphus knew he condemned several squads, by the throne, several platoons to their deaths by removing his troops from critical areas.

Tarphus felt his head pound as he heard the screams echo amidst the clamor of those blasted machines.

"Why did you leave us!" "What gives you the right-" "Butcher!" "Weakling!" "Worthless!" "A sham, an embarrassment!"

The voices piled on each other; the sheer weight of the damned forced Tarphus to lean on a wall near him.

They shouted over each other, interrupting their threats and insults, but the noise made Tarphus feel like a horse was kicking his skull.

He closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, screaming silently at his mistake.

The voices gained faces, bloodied and battered by war, mud-soaked and torn.

He started to hyperventilate as he felt the pressure build behind his ears, nose, and eyes.

Those muddy battlefields slick from blood turned a darker shade of red as the screams of anguish contorted to roars of hatred.

The smell of blood, while still pungent, curdled and died in his nose as the buzzing of flies mocked him.

He heard the crying mutterings deformed into moans of pleasure, whimpering for more.

The odor of decay, the bloodied pools of muck and blood, the howls of anguish, and the wails of pleasure might have been too much for Tarphus.

But it was when the faces of those people started to crawl forth from the pools.

Their flesh was a dark blue compared to the previous pigment of flesh when they were alive.

Their eyes glared at Tarphus, judging him as their faces shifted in an unholy display.

Tarphus felt his knees weaken at the overload to his senses; his blood chilled as he tried to breathe.

The act of breathing became too laborious for him to even attempt as he stared mouth agape at the horror unfolding before him.