![]() The marines of the apothecarium had worked hard to prepare an optic vaccine. The hated Death Guard had been pressing hard against the Ultramarines front lines, using a lethal prion disease capable of transmission through sight of a victim alone. Even had it been a routine operation, he would be burning to reach their goal with the same zeal. His mission was vital, but the battle lust of the machine spirit was infectious. Grammus, a tech-specialist veteran with the chapter's eighth company, could feel the ancient vehicle's desire to reach the battle, aiding him as he operated the throttle. The engine of Cor Gloria, his Land Raider, growled happily as they tore along the road together. The vaccine is secure and prepared for delivery." I estimate our arrival in under fifteen minutes. ![]() ![]() Our armoured column is en route to the front. "Ark actual, this is Ark saviour, Grammus reporting.
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