Safe. That was what the pilgrims in the facility thought.
While it was a supply depot, as a shrine world, even here there was a major temple that the people could go to. Plus, with it being time for the Celebration of Saint Loucia, a massive influx of pilgrims ensured that most wouldn't be able to even glimpse the minor shrines, let alone the major shrine and temples, for the whole six months of the event. Hence why the temple in the supply facility was opened to the pilgrims.
It was supposed to be a time of religious joy for the millions of pilgrims who had managed to pay, beg, stowaway, and squeeze into the numerous transports going to the shrine world. Now tales spread of devils killing and taking people, defiling shrines and slaying the priests.
However, the pilgrims in the massive chamber held to their faith that they would be safe. The Emperor's Angels of Death were here, so surely they would be safe. The devils couldn't reach them. The Emperor would save them.
And as these thoughts went through the minds of the mortals, they were ignorant of three pairs of crimson helm lenses looking down at them, about to shatter that delusion of safety.
As the doors opened wide, the mortals were confused. Was the battle over? Were they saved?
Then, like meteors, three armored giants crashed down from above.
One, wielding a glowing blue axe, let out a distorted howl that sent the people running in terror even before the first drop of blood hit the ground—and even faster when the death screams of those too close followed. All the fear that had been building, barely kept at bay, now saw the people ignoring all sense and running from the devils amongst them. For what else could they possibly be?
The three Night Lords restrained themselves when it came to killing, only applying it where the mortals began to slow in their flight. They reserved their ammunition and focused more on the blades they carried. The vox-distorted roars of the three killers also served as excellent motivation for those further away to run faster.
Varik's chainblade sprayed blood across him and those nearby with every swing. Decarion mutilated a mortal with each strike, leaving them screaming and begging in fear and pain. Malith relied more on his fists, but he was creative in his means of terrifying the mortals. As Malith lifted a mortal above his head and tore them apart before reaching for another poor soul who got too close, over half of the mortals had fled the chamber. The rest were now more quickly funneling out, now that escape seemed possible.
Never realizing it was only permitted by the very beings they fled from.
When the last mortal had fled the chamber, Marcus could smell—even through his helm—the blood of those he'd slain, the incense that was still burning, and other scents released by the fear of those in flight. He couldn't understand why the other Night Lords enjoyed fear so much. It smelled disgusting, in all honesty.
As he looked over the scene around him, blood and viscera easily marked where he and his brothers had passed. The low groaning from the mortals that Decarion had left alive could be heard before being silenced, one by one. Varik could hear in the distance the slowly fading screams of the mortals as they spread across the facility, bringing confusion and terror with them—drawing the eyes of the defenders, spreading them even thinner.
The defenders would have to choose: restore order or maintain their posts. Either they'd waste ammunition gunning down their own fleeing civilians, or they'd abandon critical positions to herd them. Morale would crack either way. Varik knew it wasn't above what the Imperium was willing to do.
Marcus felt a sense of… disgust, perhaps. In his youth, in his old life, doing such things was the work of madmen. But what was this galaxy if not a mad galaxy? Both memories told the same thing—that this galaxy was a cruel place, and what he did here was not even a footnote in the list of tragedies that occurred by the minute.
It was a more soothing thought than he expected it to be. But perhaps that was the excuse all men gave when they did such things.
Decarion ripped Marcus out of his quiet reflection, having finished the last of the survivors to ensure that what they were remained a mystery just a bit longer. The Sergeant pointed to one of the doors. "Let's go. The Loyalists will be scrambling to deal with the mortals and searching for us."
As the three of them moved to hit the next target, they passed by a window where Malith pointed out some smoke plumes rising in the distance. No words needed to be shared to know who was responsible for that, and neither did anyone have to say anything to know that the Loyalists would realize just what had entered their facility.
Brother-Sergeant Kurten of the Crimson Fists' 4th Company heard the reports from the defenders. Shrines being burned, pilgrims running all over the facility screaming of devils. So he had taken his squad to check one of the courtyards that had reported being attacked by a gunship.
It took but moments for Kurten to understand that it was not an ordinary gunship. No—it was an Astartes gunship. The impact craters and discarded shells weren't made for mortal dropships. Not only that, but the bodies that weren't killed by the gunship had been killed in a manner all too familiar to the Sergeant. No mortal man could kill his fellow man in such a way. His brothers, perhaps. And that was all Kurten needed to know what was loose in the facility.
"Traitors."
Anger was thick in the Sergeant's voice. The rest of his squad also came to the same conclusion and awaited their orders.
"Brothers, we have traitors in our midst. It is time to bring retribution to the foul wretches and deliver justice long overdue. We will split into two groups. One will hunt the traitors attacking the shrines, and I will take the other to hunt down the traitors who attacked the civilians. Let none of the traitors escape. They shall not avoid the Emperor's justice a moment longer."
His brothers shouted as one: "FOR THE EMPEROR!"
Kurten then divided the squad and departed the courtyard, swearing on Dorn's name in his heart that he would end these traitors or die trying.