The reinforced walls took another missile hit, chunks of ferrocrete and armaturan marble raining down on our lines. Despite taking fire from all sides along the full length of our defences the whoresons of the Seventeenth were stubbornly pouring into the breach, but their advance had slowed to a bloody crawl. Emeon took his Terminators to the front, the good captain himself carrying the garrison's standard and hoisting it high. His hammer crackled, clearly impatient to taste traitor blood. Already the forward elements of the betrayer assault were dying to the power fists and bolters of the Terminator vanguard.
The very foundations of the fortress quaked as the venerable Hellfire Sanctified marched out into the open, gatling blaster cycling up in anticipation of violence. Void shields flashed once, twice, thrice as enemy autocannon rounds were harmlessly brushed aside in brief displays of crackling warp energy. Angron's dogs were charging up the foot of the hill now - with a boom of its war horns the Legio Praesagius engine pronounced its judgement upon the turncoats.