Das hier ist (leider) nicht von mir. Ich hab es gerade in den Untiefen des Netzes entdeckt und wollte es euch nicht vorenthalten.
Leider weiß ich auch nicht wer es geschrieben hat, aber es ist zu gut um es euch vorzuenthalten 
The beat of powerful wings, a sense of depthless sadness. That it should come to this... comrades in arms locked in a battle to the death. Then he saw him, his brother once, his enemy now. Flashing blades and an explosion of blood, screaming pain flaring round his body like an electric charge and he...
...opened his eyes, sweat coating his skin with an oily sheen, his mouth filled with blood. He swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth, fighting down the visions. But no matter how hard he pushed them away, they were always there, lurking at the back of his skull. Brother Captain Erasmus Tycho stood and turned to leave the chapel, stopping as he saw Chaplain Lemartes standing in the archway, his face shrouded in the dancing shadows cast by the electro-flambeaux.
"Were you seeing them again?" asked Lemartes.
Tycho nodded slowly. "Yes..." he whispered, "I see them even now. I can feel his pain, it burns me."
Lemartes approached Tycho and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. He had always known it would come to this, but still he felt sorrow. Fitting that it should come on Armageddon. He could see Tycho's glassy eyed stare and knew that part of his mind was no longer here in the now, but had been wrenched back to the time of the Great Betrayal. To the last battle of their Primarch Sanguinius. To his death.
"Have they considered my... request?" asked Tycho.
"They have, my friend," replied Lemartes sadly.
"And?"
"You shall have your wish, Erasmus. The honour of leading the forlorn hope into the Tempestora breach on the morrow is yours. Come, I shall perform the moripatris."
*****
Arrayed in his newly painted black armour, Tycho stared fixedly towards the besieged Hive Tempestora as the Chaplains moved amongst the men of the forlorn hope, the first men into the breach. The first men to die. He felt his pulse race and his breathing quicken... The Imperial palace was in ruins, thousands were dead... He blinked and watched as vast bellied Gargants.... Daemon visaged Titans stalked through the rubble of Terra like predatory gods, killing and destroying all in their path... lurched into firing positions before the hive. Somewhere in the cratered hell before him was the enemy who had horribly disfigured him all those years ago... One man's betrayal had brought them to this, one man's vanity and pride. But they had a chance to end it here. His Emperor had made the decision to take the fight to Horus and Sanguinius of the Blood Angels would not fail him... Chaplain Lemartes stopped before Tycho and dipped his finger into a blood filled chalice. He anointed Tycho's helmet with blood in the form of a jagged saltire and said, "With my blood I commend your soul to the Emperor. May he watch over you this day."
"And you also Dorn," said Tycho, taking Lemartes' hand in the warriors grip, wrist to wrist. "One last time brother."
"Yes," agreed Lemartes, knowing that Tycho was finally lost to him. "One last time."
*****
Tycho smashed another Greenskin from the rubble with a backhanded sweep of his fist. Bones cracked and blood sprayed. The top of the breach was less than ten metres away. Gunfire stitched a path towards him, spurts of dust and stone exploding around him. He felt the powerful impacts, but ignored them, charging up the debris strewn slope. Choking dust and smoke filled the air. All he could see were shadowy forms before him... brother Space Marines, their oaths of loyalty ashes in the dust. He hated them like nothing he had ever hated before. A blade swung at his head, striking his shoulder guard and tearing upwards... Tycho's golden mask tore from his rictus face in a wash of blood and skin. He screamed in fury, standing at the top of the breach, surrounded by his foes. The Orks swarmed around the Blood Angels, dying by the dozen as fifty years of hatred and vengeance poured through Tycho's veins. Behind him, the last Space Marine of the forlorn hope fell beneath the blades of the Orks... the others were gone, separated in the teleportation. He was aloneÉ Tycho fought with the strength of legend, fighting and killing all who came near him. He swept up a fallen sword and continued the slaughter, the blade rising and falling, Ork blood sheathing its edge. No blade could pierce his armour, no bullet could lay him low. Ork corpses, scores deep, surrounded him, his altar of death. The smoke parted and a massively powerful Ork, clad in wheezing mechanical armour, crunched across the rubble towards him. Black exhaust fumes belched from rusted pipes and enormous claws snapped from each arm. Tycho snarled as the unquenchable fury of the Black Rage finally consumed him utterly...
Horus, greatest and most beloved of the Primarchs. Why? When we could have achieved anything we dreamed of, why? Horus said nothing, swinging with his bladed fist. He sprang away from the powerful claw, spinning behind the Traitor. Sanguinius leapt feet first at Horus, feeling fangs break under his boot heels. He landed lightly, rolling swiftly to his feet as Horus attacked again. His back was to the wall, nowhere to go but forwards. The two brothers met blade to blade and Sanguinius knew he could not defeat Horus. The sword snapped and Horus smashed the claw through his armour and deep into his belly. Excruciating agony ripped upwards into his ribcage as Horus tore his heart out. Sanguinius spat blood into his brother's face and hissed, "I die, but you will die with me, traitor!" as he lashed out with his fist and ripped out his foe's throat in a welter of blood. He felt Horus' grip slacken and slumped to the ground, his lifeblood pumping from his broken body. He could vaguely hear his companions calling his name, but with each second their voices grew dimmer. He had not failed his Emperor. He smiled and closed his eyes as life slipped away.
*****
Lemartes watched the small group of Space Marines as they bore their Captain on their shoulders towards the Imperial lines. The breach had fallen and the outer ring of fortifications and bunkers were now in Imperial hands. Tycho had held the breach long enough for the rest of the army to reach the walls and carry the day. With a tenderness that belied the gore-streaked appearance of the Blood Angels, they laid Brother Captain Erasmus Tycho at the feet of Chaplain Lemartes. He knelt by the bloody corpse, laying a hand on his brow and staring at his friend's face. Perhaps it was just the relaxation of muscle that followed death, but he believed he could see a softening in Tycho's features, as though the terrible disfigurement done to him had retreated within his flesh. He hoped so.
"Farewell brother," he whispered. "You will not be forgotten."
