Before the traitors had fully depressed the triggers on their auto-cannons, Diocledes and Ruskvar sparked into action. Diocledes strode forward, rounds splintering off his bulk, and brought his storm bolter to bear while Ruskvar slammed through a partially intact doorway to their left. As the Excoriator bore the brunt of the assault in the street, returning fire with economic precision, the Wolf tore through the hab-units with a savage intent. Within moments Ruskvar was among the robed cultists on the bottom floor. The beast within him snarled at the scent of prey, and the blood flowed slick and heavy in the air around him as he carved them apart with his combat knife. Inside of twelve seconds seven cultists lay in pieces with the autocannon barrel bent and useless. He surged up a nearby stairwell, saw the remains of another group clearly blown apart by Diocledes' storm bolter, and continued to the third floor without pause.
There he found his true target. In a lengthy stretch of room facing the street, the traitorous scum had thrown up a hasty barricade and were in the process of leveling a Multi-Melta at the hulking form of Diocledes, the powerful weapon being their only true chance of dealing with the massive marine. Ruskvar howled with battle-lust as he charged into the room. He could see three cultists operating the Multi-Melta, with two huge ogryn wearing chunks of roughly cut slabsteel arranged into ramshackle chestplates standing behind them. Hearing the marine the two giants turned and roared their defiance back. Their minds were too small to realize the danger they were in. Both of the abhumans moved to intercept him and Ruskvar grinned. Five accelerated steps carried him within range of the brutes. One carried a hefty cleaver in a meaty fist, the other swung an improvised club, little more than a meter long chunk of construction iron. Quick as death upon the frozen wastes, he ducked under the club and blocked the cleaver swiping at his right with the back of his knife, the blow enough to rattle him slightly even in his armor. Pulling his bolter free of its mag-lock, he thrust it under the chin of the beast with the club and thumped a round into the creature's chin, the bolt detonating its head. Not slowing his momentum, he shoved himself past the falling body and the cleaver wielding ogryn to an unobstructed view of the cultists attempting to find their shot on Diocledes. Ruskvar didn't bother with the cultists. He shot the gun itself. A finicky weapon on the best of days, the Multi-Melta exploded with a furious wave of plasma and heat that threw the marine and the ogryn flat on their backs.
Recovering first, Ruskvar rolled to his feet and kicked out at the ogryn that was beginning to right itself. His sabaton broke the thick wrist and hand holding the cleaver, his knife slamming into its temple a heartbeat later. He laughed and spun on his heel moving towards the stairwell once again. Hearts pulsing merrily, the wolf within him howled with pleasure for the murder-make. By the time he made it back to the ground level he was roaring with laughter.
For the second time in an hour, the usually stoic Diocledes found himself chuckling with the younger marine. The whole situation had been Ruskvar's idea after all. As they had pushed farther down the street, the enhanced suite of auto-senses in his Terminator suit had begun to pick up telltale spoor and signatures within the hab-units to either side of the street, near the gates connecting it to the Arterial. He'd relayed the information to Ruskvar, intent on moving through one of the hab-units to their side and avoiding the ambush. Having not yet blooded himself on the mission however, Ruskvar of course suggested a more... Direct approach. They could take the ambush, trusting in their armor and experience to see them through. While lacking in finesse, Diocledes could agree the plan's overall simplicity. He would absorb the brunt of the ambush's firepower, returning fire where he could, his armor nigh impervious to the cultists conventional weaponry. The one hitch being the Multi-Melta his auspex could detect on the third floor of the hab-spire to their left. He would rely on Ruskvar to eliminate that threat. It would cost them an estimated sixteen to twenty rounds from his storm bolter, perhaps five from Ruskvar. An acceptable expenditure if it meant getting them to the Arterial and back on track with their primary mission faster. The elimination of some traitors and their pilfered weaponry was an added bonus.
Still chuckling, Diocledes couldn't help ribbing his fellow marine, "It would appear, Young Wolf, that my tally remains the greater." He had indeed expended sixteen bolt rounds, racking up fifteen kill confirmations from his suits systems. "Rwahahaha, aye, perhaps," growled Ruskvar heartily, "Though for the joy of stretching my limbs and meeting our enemy up close, I'll take it. The mission is barely beginning, Long Tooth, and I've ample time to catch up."
Shaking his head, the younger marine sobered slightly. "There's something off about these cultists though. Can't quite place it." Diocledes nodded in agreement and asked, "Did you hear any of them speak to each other? Mutterings, orders... Even whispers?" Ruskvar shook his head again. "No, the only utterances I heard were the brutes bellowing at me." "I am becoming suspicious," Diocledes concluded after a moment of consideration, "That this is not an average xeno worshiping cult. Come. Let us get to the rendezvous point and hear what observations Tarkhan has for us, then track down the rest of our scattered brothers."
Returning to their stride, the two covered the remaining blocks uneventfully. The gargantuan structure of the gates that led to the byway loomed over them as they made their way through the defensive cordon, heavy weapons servitors tracking their movements from secured alcoves in the tunnel leading into that void-shielded thoroughfare. Another reason the cultists hadn't been able to gain a foothold in the Arterial, though not for lack of trying. Every entrance to the byway was as well defended as many Arbites fortresses, and considerably better supplied. Luckily the clearance provided by their Inquisitorial level pass-coding allowed them to move through the security tunnel swiftly, and soon they came to a vast open space where the ceilings disappeared above them.
The air above the Arterial was open but not empty. There were innumerable shipping craft flying in strict lanes back and forth, and above them crackled the void shield. Transparent almost to the point of being invisible, every so often the vast tube of bubbled energy would discharge micro-bursts of electricity where the shield ionized the air and pollution around it, brilliant colors sparking across the field in dizzying arrays. The noise of so many moving vehicles, flight craft, servitors, vacuum tubes, trolleys, mag-levs, and the sheer number of people made their suits dampening systems kick in, muting the cacophony to a dull roar.
To their east, less than six kilometers away according to their maps, it appeared that Tarkhan had also entered the byway, and was making towards their location with all haste.