#oc | cato

[junodoom]

it’s finally mermay, which means i now have an excuse to shove my oc size-difference mer-yaoi in everyone’s faces!!!

*drops a giant pile of old & new arts here*

[danart501]

Ok I confess…that im a fan of bully sicarius and diplomatic reader😔

@moodymisty

[dammarchy211]

Woooahhh this au again???? Decided to do some redesign’s for Lili’s band since the art was so old of it by now. It’s officially been named Brain Jar for. Awhile now. But I haven’t posted about it since lol

SO HERE THEY ARE Brain Jar and their back up drummer who is a 9 year old boy

The band name was suggested by @ottosbigtop btw !

[newvegascowboy]

growing up in the Legion was never good, but it wasn't always bad

[juliettefarbrooke-sso]

a piece i commissioned months ago from @ellipuukangas but never shared! juliette, daisy, and cato all taking a nature hike.

[risingsh0t]

"hurtled into the chaos, you fight… and the world will shake before you."

—template ⭑ icons ⭑ vehra & tesni belong to @auricfog, cato is shared 💞

taglist:

@tommyarashikage @queennymeria @silkcrows @florbelles @jamessunderlandgf

@leviiackrman @elvves @carrionsflower @statichvm @pinkfey

@thedeadthree @roofgeese @shadowglens @deadrlngers @adelaidedrubman

@shadowsofrose @imogenkol @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @d-esmond

@inafieldofdaisies @katsigian @confidentandgood @hexmaturgy

[canonkiller]

catoblepas guy (he/it) for meeee

[cattomint]

dancedance revolution

[itsbasil]

"Two Slow Dancers"

Spartans produced by unsanctioned, clandestine corporate programs rarely get to grow up and train alongside one another the way the original Spartan-IIs and IIIs did.

Cato (serial no. 62-06-40303) and Sage (serial no. 62-06-40411) are a rare glimpse at what becomes possible when they do.

[junodoom]

back with more of these ocs, heyyy

bonus memes. the second one was made by my friend, @ hiscusbiscus23 on insta, go look at their art now 🔪🔪🔪 (threat)

[lemon-russ]

Freehand perspective practice with Wren having a Rough Time (tm)

[remembrancersticky]

So anyway, I really like @moodymisty's custodes oc Valerius Caledon

[axolotaquestions]

Found out Magma was a thing!!!

Bonus sketches TEEHEE, inspired by GF screenshots

[aqua-the-smiter]

Part 5 baybee. I am the Harbinger of Justice for Cato Sicarius Despite everything, he is still needed. And he won't fail. Cato Sicarius x female reader Divider by @squishyowl

Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TOzkCIaXjI , https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znsUh6vBWLI

"Could you at least tell me why he's so important? Can you at least grant me that little?"

Guilliman sighed, and leaned back in his chair. Melor was resting in his arms, happily nursing off a bottle that his uncle held for him. Cato had come in as soon as he'd had a spare moment, looking about as bad as he'd ever seen him when it wasn't directly after combat.

The Primarch felt a stab of guilt at that. He'd been mulling over what to do with him the whole way to Medusa, but afterwards things had slipped his mind. He did have the little one to look after. Now that he was back, the problem was also back in his periphery.

He wondered if giving Cato this assignment had been the best idea after all. He trusted the captain, knew just how strong and capable he was. The reason he'd given the duty to Sicarius was because he wholeheartedly believed that Melor would be safe with him. The old ego had long since been tempered. Cato was a good warrior and a good man.

But now when Guilliman looked at him he could see the damage. The emptiness in his eyes, the tension in his arms and shoulders. The breakdown from the previous day. He didn't doubt Cato now because of his skills, he doubted him because Cato expected himself to fail. Expectations often were part of breeding the results. Which was why now he was willing to offer a few more answers than he'd given before. Maybe if he understood, knew what exactly what he was dealing with, he'd realize just how much he was actually trusted.

Of course, it might also backfire completely. Knowing just how much was at stake could potentially send him down a spiral of thinking just how astronomical the consequences would be if he did fail. Which would shatter his confidence.

There was nothing for it but to try anyway.

"I will tell you. But understand this." He paused, adjusting the angle of the bottle as Melor drained it. "You are not breath a word of this to anyone. I am telling you this because I trust you, and you are correct. If you are going to guard him, you may as well know who exactly it is you're guarding."

Or, most of it anyway. There were still some things he didn't need to know.

"I will not." He thought that should have been a given, but the look in the Primarch's eyes was oddly intense. "You have my word."

"Good. Now-" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "-how do I start this? Alright. His full name is Melor Manus. He is Ferrus's son. Ferrus had a wife that none of us knew about, and they had a child, him. He was born shortly after Ferrus died, a few months I think, and then was put into stasis for safety. Which is why he's still practically a newborn."

Cato had assumed as much, but to hear the whole tale laid out was an entirely different thing. "How did that happen?"

"The usual way, Cato."

He frowned. "That is not what I mean. How did Lord Manus get a wife? From what I know of him, he doesn't seem like the type."

"He loved her." Guilliman replied quietly. "That is all he told me. I don't know how he he kept her secret. But I did not know him very well. He often liked to say that nobody knew him, and I believe he was right. Fulgrim certainly didn't know him as well as he liked to think he did, that much was plain. Her name was Argena."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Remembering watching the two walking hand in hand back into the Warp. It was a bittersweet thing to witness. He had never known Ferrus could have such a deep warmth in him. There was much he had never known about his brother. It was truly a shame that his reunion with his wife had to take place in the afterlife.

And he felt like an idiot. How could he have wept for Fulgrim's state when Fulgrim did it to himself? When here was Ferrus, eternally loyal, with a broken family and an orphan child. He was not perfect, far from it, but he deserved more of a due than what he had been given. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Knowing that he would never get the chance to truly know his brother. Ferrus had been one of his Dauntless Few. He should have known him better.

Then his lips quirked up in a rueful smile. "It's funny to me. I remember Ferrus and Fulgrim, during the Crusade. I remember how proud Fulgrim was of his physical appearance. He would boast of it often, and he landed Ferrus with the nickname of 'The Gorgon'. But he was married multiple times for political gain. Ferrus married once, for love."

Now that was truly unusual. The Primarch didn't like to talk about the Great Crusade very often, and Cato couldn't blame him. The memories were bitter, painful.

"Alright. Melor is Lord Manus's son, and he asked you to take care of him. That much is understandable. What I still cannot figure out is why you asked me to be his bodyguard. Why me?"

Roboute sighed. "I chose you because you are one of my best, Cato. I know about what is going on with you. Titus came to talk to me. Others have too. I know there are things chewing holes in your mind. I know you are in pain. But the fact remains, you are one of my best. I gave you the task because I trust you."

He had hoped to reassure his son, but Cato just withered. Looking profoundly ashamed. "I am sorry, my lord. That it has become such a problem that even you have taken notice. I have done a poor job of controlling myself." "No!" Roboute would've slammed his hand on the desk if that wouldn't have disturbed Melor. "Do not think like that. It's not something you can go on burying like this. I don't know how deep it goes, but you need help. It will rot you from the inside out, if it hasn't started to already."

"You have more important things occupying your time, my lord."

"Are my own sons not to be counted as important as well?" Guilliman retorted quietly. "Moreover, I understand it. Do you think I have never once thought to myself how some of this was my fault? That if I had only done something or other, the Imperium wouldn't be in this state? That some of my brothers would still be here? It is a wretched path to tread. And one best avoided."

Cato was stunned for a moment. All this time, he would have never imagined a Primarch, his Primarch, carrying the kind of haunting thoughts that he did. He couldn't find the words, so merely nodded.

"I know you're hurting. But I also know your record. I know you are a brilliant warrior, and you still have much untapped potential. I took you under my wing because you remind me of another of my sons. His name was Aeonid Thiel. Just as stubborn, just as willful. But he was tempered like any good blade. The best ones often take a very long time to make."

"I...thank you, my lord." He dipped his head.

"I trust you will do this duty, then?"

He stared at Melor for a moment. Since the boy was awake, he could see his eyes now. They were beautiful, a bright, brilliant gold with an odd metallic sheen. Ferrus's eyes had always been described as silver, so he guessed those eyes were his mother's.

"I will guard him with my life." Cato said finally.

Guilliman smiled. "I trust he'll be safe then." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was dark. The smell of incense and human pain laced the air. Blood ran in rivulets off the low altar into the channels, filling them and highlighting the design of the eight pointed Chaos wheel. Candles guttered and acolytes chanted.

The terminator Choroathe knelt in the center, free of his armor, and neck deep in his trace. He could hear them, the whispers of the Warp. The voices of the gods. And oh they had things to tell him. Secrets of the future. Secrets that the servants of the Corpse Emperor would love to keep buried.

They would be brought to light, rest assured.

Something was tickling the edges of his mind. Blurry at first, but the image was growing clearer. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. Like his soul was holding onto his body by a thread. It was euphoric.

His body stiffed. Some power ran through him like an electric current, and the visions coalesced. The whispering became legible, and told him it's secrets.

Iron seed Son of iron Lord of iron! Do not let him Go to Macragge Macragge, Macragge! Heart of Ultramar Slay him Slay the Iron Son Do not let this seed grow!

His head snapped back with a gasp, and his eyes flung open. He knelt there for a moment, his whole body shaking in almost orgasmic aftershocks. A prophecy...how long had it been since he received one? The Word Bearer struggled to contain his glee.

"My lord?"

He stood shakily, and turned around to face one of his squadmates.

"What did you see?"

"Macragge." Choroathe whispered. "The gods have granted me sight. We must go to Macragge. The seed must not grow."

A few of the others muttered among themselves. Another stepped forward. "What seed, my lord?"

"Ferrus Manus is dead, but his progeny lives. Roboute Guilliman has him now. The gods have sent me a warning. He cannot be allowed to live."

The other Word Bearer looked...uncomfortable at that.

"Is there a problem, Robavam?"

"Well...I don't mean to question the judgement of the divine, but to butcher an infant in his cradle feels...cruel." He said slowly.

"How dare you question the will of the gods!" One of his brothers snapped, and others took up similar cries.

Choroathe held up his hands for silence. "We do not always understand the will of those above us. But I have no doubt it is for the greater good. It may be difficult to comprehend, but we follow their will, not our own. If they thought he could be turned to our side, they would have told us so. But his father was unshakably loyal, and his father's blood is bound to his veins. As the father was, so the son shall be as well. He must be removed."

Robavam nodded, falling to his knees. "Yes, my lord. Forgive me. I meant no disrespect."

"It is cruel, but this galaxy is cruel. And sometimes cruel things must be done, to spare worse later on."

"I understand. Please, forgive my ignorance."

"Stand up, brother. All is forgiven if only one accepts his wrongdoing." Choroathe put a hand on his pauldron, briefly, before turning to the rest. "Now make ready, brothers! We carry out the will of the gods!"

But first, some weakening of the defenses would not hurt. He had been shown many things in his visions. One of those had been a particular Ultramarine. His armor was elaborate, and his helmet crested with a red and white plume.

Cato Sicarius. The broken one. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It had been around two weeks since the little one had come to the Fortress of Hera. And two weeks since he'd been assigned to the boy. It was, at the moment at least, the easiest job he'd ever had. The Primarch handled his day to day care, so all he had to do was stay in the room with the boy and guard his crib. Even that wasn't daily. As much as Guilliman had talked it up, it was clear he would rather be the one protecting his nephew. Cato couldn't blame him for that.

Melor's presence had become, if not normal, at least accepted. By now everyone had pretty much figured out what the Primarch hadn't said, that the boy was Ferrus Manus's son he had somehow been roped into caring for. If his swaddling hadn't been a dead giveaway, and it was largely agreed upon that Guilliman had refrained from saying anything out loud for safety reasons rather than because he thought his sons wouldn't be able to figure it out.

Cato had heard all kinds of ridiculous speculation about Melor's sire, however. Some of the younger Astartes and neophytes weren't content with the simplest answer, and were throwing out any and every Primarch with black hair, loyalist or not. Corvus Corax (the kid was pale but not that pale), Konrad Curze (no), Perturabo (had his hair even been black?), all the way to Horus himself (now you're asking to be smacked). It was absurd, and anyone he overheard spreading those particular rumors weren't let in to see the little one.

Because despite everything he'd garnered a good deal of fondness from the Ultramarines. Even with the (stupid) discourse on his parentage, the ones who didn't interact with that kind of ridiculousness still found themselves curious, and inevitably came to see him.

Marneus Calgar was one of the ones brave enough to hold him. He'd held the little boy up to his face, and Melor had responded by smacking him in the nose with a tiny baby hand. The Chapter Master's usually concrete face had broken into a delighted grin and he laughed aloud. Severus outright refused, and got relentlessly made fun of by the other officers. Uriel held him and seemed to get a bit emotional, wiping his thumb over his eyes. Not openly weeping or anything so dramatic, but definitely misty eyed. When Titus held him, Melor seemed to get it into his head to copy the Primaris lieutenant's usually stoic expression with remarkable accuracy.

Even the xenos wasn't immune. Yvraine was in more often than not, cuddling the little one and cooing to him. Melor seemed to enjoy the lavishing of affection, and Roboute didn't seem to mind, so Cato let it slide.

You came in too. Since he was on guard duty, it was an easy decision to have you handle the rest of Melor's needs when Guilliman was unavailable, much as you could tell he didn't like it. You felt your respect for the Primarch growing as you noted his willingness to do whatever was needed for his nephew. It wasn't always a pleasant job, but you enjoyed it regardless. It let you spend more time with Cato, and it gave him more of an opportunity to vent.

"Are you alright?" You asked him quietly, so as to not wake Melor. He was peacefully asleep in your arms. "You haven't been very talkative today."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

You fell silent, and he didn't reply. But you could hear the sound of his gauntlets tightening around the hilt of his sword. There was something bothering him.

"Please Cato. You can tell me. Are you worried about the job again?" You knew he had a habit of thinking himself into ruts over his doubts.

"No, it isn't that."

"Is it your dreams again?"

He sighed, and didn't answer for a moment. You were worried you were going to get the silent treatment from him, when he finally replied, "One dream."

You looked up from Melor. "What?"

"It's on dream. A reoccurring nightmare. I have been having it whenever I sleep."

"You've only slept a couple of times."

"Exactly." He said, nodding. "Only twice, but I had the same nightmare."

You held out a hand to him. After a moment, he took it and squeezed it. "Maybe it's just your subconscious bringing your stress into your sleep. What are you dreaming about?"

"I..." He squeezed his blue eyes shut for a moment.

He'd never felt sick at the smell of blood, but now it made him want to vomit. The coppery tang was think in his nose, the scent of rich, not-quite-human blood in a place it shouldn't have been. This place was supposed to be safe. It should have been safe. It would have been safe if not for him.

Blood dripped between the nalwood slats of the crib and pooled on the floor. Widening, starting to stain his boots in gore. Such a small child to have so much lifeblood ebbing from him. Maybe that's why there was so much. It was all the life he would not live now.

Because he had failed. As he had known he would. He always failed when he was needed the most.

His hands gripped the wooden railing so hard it was beginning to splinter. He didn't want to look down. Look at the consequences of his action. The price of his failure. But something forced his head down. Made him look.

Amidst the scarlet soaked bedding, there was swaddling draped over a bloody form in the middle. Curled up like he was just asleep. Cato felt his jaw clench. The boy was even smaller in death than he had been in life. One tiny, pale hand stuck out.

How had this happened? He swore he had done his duty. He hadn't left the boy's side.

"I'm sorry." He rasped, falling to his knees. Feeling something wet and coppery begin to drip from his eyes.

As he knelt there, he felt a huge pair of hands grab his neck from behind and start to squeeze. They were cold, and hard. Like they were coated in metal.

If you hadn't been holding Melor you would have run up to Cato and squeezed him until your arms were sore. As it was the best you could do at the moment was meet his gaze. His expression was twisted and pained.

"None of it's real, Cato." You said softly. "It was just a dream. Just your subconscious manifesting your fears."

He shook his head sadly. "I wish I could believe it was that simple."

"...Do you think they're prophetic?"

"No. But it was the very same nightmare. The same details and all. I cannot believe it is only my subconscious."

He turned away with a clank of ceramite.

"You know it's all lies anyway, right? Whatever these dreams are." You told him finally.

He stiffened, but didn't turn around.

"I mean it. I know you. You're strong and brave and clever. You're one of the best the Adeptus Astartes has. The Primarch wouldn't have had you do this if he didn't believe you could. And...I believe in you too. As much as that sounds like a platitude, I know."

You stood up and carefully walked over to him. Thankfully Melor continued to snooze. You reached up and placed a hand on Sicarius's cheek.

"But it's the truth. When you're needed, you'll pull through. I know you will."

He turned to look at you, his expression softening. Your eyes were wide and earnest, full of concern and the love you held for him. One armored gauntlet rested over your hand, briefly. Then he removed it, and placed a kiss on your knuckles.

"Fear not. Whatever my feelings, I will do my duty." he said, stroking Melor's forehead with an armored finger.

"I know you will." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The night was quieter than it should have been.

It was snowing outside. Nearly a blizzard, coming down in huge, fluffy flakes that joined and became even larger as they fell. The Fortess of Hera was already blanketed in it, and it sparkled in the lights from lamps and windows.

Snow and howling wind swallowed up the sounds outside. It overpowered even Cato's sensitive ears. The noises in the hallway were muffled. It was black as pitch outside because of the storm too. Which in turn made it feel darker inside, no matter how many lights were on.

It was dark in this room anyway. Melor was once again fast asleep. He seemed to do that more than anything else. Either sleeping or eating. Then again, most of the time he was in the Primarch's care.

The hair on the back of his neck had been prickling all night, and he wasn't sure why. Everything had been just fine. There was nothing for him to be worried about, but he was anyway, and he found himself wishing for dawn to hurry up and break already. He checked the chronograph on a small table.

Nope, not even close. it was barely passed 11:30. Not even midnight yet.

His hands curled around the hilt of the Tempest Blade. Something felt wrong, although he couldn't place his finger on what. He turned around, and walked over to where the boy lay, resting a hand on the railing.

He looked peaceful like that, and rather cute. Cato felt a pang of brotherly affection for the little one, even if he was only a cousin. Reaching down, he stroked the fuzzy black skullcap of baby hair he was growing with armored fingers before turning back to his post.

And froze.

The door was ajar.

Just a crack, just a hair's breadth.

When he knew for a fact it had been locked, because he had locked it himself.

His acute sense of paranoia was screaming. He didn't move. Didn't even twitch. The most important thing right now was to not let them know he was onto them. Let them come to him. He couldn't leave anyway to check it out, even if he'd wanted to. He was almost certain the door was nothing but a distraction. Something to lure him away from his post. Leaving Melor vulnerable and defenseless. And now, he understood why the Primarch had given him this job. Who else would have noted something so small and given it credence?

He could feels his hearts begin to speed up, and willed himself to be calm. If he wanted any edge over whatever enemy lurked outside that door, they couldn't know that he knew.

There was a flicker under the door. He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. Was that shadows moving outside, or was his vision playing tricks on him? Was that whispering he could hear, or just the wind?

It couldn't be anything in here. The room was sparse, since it was Melor's only temporarily. And there wasn't a window. The only light came from what was now filtering through the cracks in the door. Or, that had been.

The weight of the Tempest Blade in his hands was comforting. His plasma pistol was a reassuring drag at his belt.

His internal display relayed a rapid, sudden drop in temperature. Over ten degrees, and it wasn't just outside either. He could feel it in his armor, under his body glove even. The cold stung his cheeks and nose even though his helmet was on.

And then his vision went black.

He heard the door burst open and slam against the wall. Armored footsteps running up to him. Hot, searing pain in his chest. Something solid and sharp running him through. Cutting straight through ceramite. He collapsed to his knees. Clutching his chest with one hand.

Melor's shriek of fear shook the fog of pain away.

Whatever was clouding his eyes vanished. Without thinking, he turned, drew his pistol and snapped off a shot. The hot plasma burned through the power pack of the Chaos Astartes. One of Lorgar's bastard whelps.

He leapt to his feet. Grabbing the Word Bearer by the back of the head and shoving him forward. There was an ugly crack as he hit the wall. He slumped and lay still.

The scent of rich Astartes blood filled his noise and mouth. He could feel his twin hearts beating against the flat of the blade in his chest. Just barely scraping the edge with each throb.

He whipped around, his red cape flaring behind him. Just in time to cross sword to dagger with a second Word Bearer. The power field of his own blade easily overpowering the weaker weapon. The dagger was wrenched out of his grasp. Embedding itself in the wall.

The Word Bearer began to reach for his pistol. That was quickly stopped when Cato took his head off with enough force to send it flying.

The corpse was kicked aside with disdain as he made his way to the door. A third was trying to make his way in and blocked it, his bolter up. He got a crater blown in his face for his trouble.

Cato kicked the body into the legs of the next Word Bearer, who stumbled backwards. He got his bearings quickly, bringing his bolter up and firing a volley along with his companion.

The second one pulled out his own power dagger and charged. Sicarius met him with a thrust that sent the Tempest Blade straight through him. He spasmed. Blood bubbled out of his snarling vox grille with his death throes.

Briefly he was reminded of his own injury. Feeling the long blade deep in his flesh, his hearts beating again it. Blood trickling down his armor, in his bodyglove.

Melor's wails brought him back to the task at hand. He charged the other gunner, using his companion's corpse still impaled on his sword as a meat shield. His horned, mutated head was exploded by a bolter round. The Ultramarine launched the body at the shooter, knocking him to the ground. Finishing him off quickly with a sword through the eye.

Yet another quickly took his place. This one had a staff and a jagged, ritual dagger. Cato felt his heart sink. He was starting to really feel his wound now. And this one was clearly a psyker. With his poisonous, sticky aura.

He raised his pistol and snapped off another shot, but the sorcerer ducked it easily, bolting to the left.

Then let out a scream of pain.

The final Word Bearer had, at the last second, ran forward and stuck out his blade, which the sorcerer had impaled himself on. He pulled it out and shoved it through the underside of the psyker's jaw, up into his brain. His erstwhile brother slid to the floor.

Cato pointed his plasma pistol at the turncoat, who dropped his dagger and held up his hands.

"I will allow you to explain yourself before you die." Cato said, trying not to pant. He could feel blood bubble over his lips as he spoke.

The Word Bearer nodded. "Choroathe received a prophecy. The boy must die. But the thought of murdering an infant in his cradle did not sit well with me. It still doesn't."

"Honorable, for one like you."

Robavam gave a lopsided smile under his helmet. "Unusual, I'm aware."

Before either of them could say anything else, there was a thundering boom followed by the crackling of a power weapon charging up. Coming from Melor's room.

The Word Bearer joined Cato in his dash for the door, even getting there before him. Inside stood a hulking figure in terminator armor. A gray robe covered it, and a cowl was pulled up over his helmet. His Lighting Claws flickering and sparking with power. He glared at his brother.

"Traitor." He growled through his vox.

In a move that he should have been too heavy and slow to perform with such speed, he surged forward, stabbing his claws into the other Word Bearer's chest. He collapsed in a heap, wheezing through his one, undamaged lung.

Then he turned his attention to Cato, who had just finished sending out a distress call on all available channels of his vox. Hoping the whole Fortress wasn't swarming with Chaos Astartes.

"NO!"

Sicarius's first instinct was to get between Melor and the looming brute. He stepped into the room, feinting to the right, narrowly avoiding a set of claws in his gut. He ran around the terminator's left side, bringing his pistol to bear. Ducking another swipe of his lighting claws by milimeters.

His finger squeezed the trigger as if in slow motion.

The aim was perfect, hitting the monstrous Astartes in the back of the knee. Blowing the leg out from under him. Choroathe toppled over with an enormous crash.

Cato grabbed one of the spikes of the Terminator's trophy rack, his muscles screaming from holding up such a weight. Yanking him back. Quickly, he grabbed the Tempest Blade with both hands and shoved it with all his strength through Choroathe's helmet. Through skull, brain, until the sword came out of his vox grille. then he ripped it out and let the daemon worshiping bastard fall to the floor.

And then all was still.

He could feel his Larraman cells struggling to clot his wound. Hear the ragged breathing of the one Word Bearer in the galaxy who still had some humanity in him. Over all of it he could hear poor Melor's pitiful, terrified cries.

Slowly, he picked his way over the fallen Chaos marines. The boy's golden eyes were wide with fear and wet with tears. Carefully sheathing the Tempest Blade and replacing his pistol in his holster, he picked him up gently. He held Melor in one arm, rocking him slightly with it. With his free hand, he clutched a corner of his cape and held it in front of the babe like a curtain.

He pulled his helmet off, and maglocked it to his belt.

"Easy little one, easy." Cato said, trying his best to soothe the boy as he reached for the sword in his chest.

"Don't, brother Ultramarine." The turncoat wheezed. "That blade is keeping the rest of your blood where it belongs."

He nodded, and took his hand off the hilt. Turning his attention back to his little cousin. He was whimpering now, still crying but more quietly.

"Shh, shh." Cato soothed. "You'll be alright. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you. I will protect you."

Sicarius held Melor like that for a long, long time. It felt like hours as he stood there, comforting him as best as he could.

Eventually he heard footsteps outside. Ceramite on the marble floor, running at full tilt. Astartes, baseliners, and one huge set that could only be the Primarch's.

Cato limped his way to the doorway just as the group arrived. Going slowly and carefully. He leaned against the frame.

Roboute, the Ultramarines and auxilia saw Cato leaning weakly in the doorframe, holding Melor in one arm with his cape held up with the other. His face and hair were drenched with sweat. Blood leaked from his nose and the corner of his mouth, and his legs were starting to buckle. Stuck in his chest, straight through the ceramite, was a jagged old sword. More blood oozed from the wound.

All around him were the corpses of Word Bearers. The hallway was practically painted, splattered with gore and bolter impacts, strewn with bodies.

At their approach he looked up.

"Captain, what happened?"

"He's safe, my lord." Cato said to Guilliman. The wooziness setting in. "They tried to kill him, but he's safe. Just shaken."

His breath came in wheezing rasps. Slowly, he stepped forward and held out the little one to him. Gently, Roboute took him, holding him protectively. Melor cuddled against his uncle.

"Did you kill them all?" Guilliman asked, looking at the two dead marines and one dead terminator over his shoulder

Cato nodded. "Except for...one. The psyker. I had help from...a turncoat."

Robavam raised his arm weakly at that.

"Melor's safe." Cato said, his voice sounding far away. Everything felt so far away. He was conscious for just long enough to hear his gene father yelling for an apothecary before everything went black.

[megsdoodletag]

i'm doing really great at writing just about all of juno's story except the chapter that should be published next so. have some future funsies w/ Brother Cato

[ruvviks]

// oc picrew. [x]

tagged by; @roseeway, thank you so much!!

tagging; @mojaves, @lestatlioncunt, @dickytwister, @ncytiri, @elgaravel and YOU!

ambrose hawthorne [he/him] // cato wu [she/her] eddie wolfe [he/they] // hanan chisaka [she/her] lauren dimas [she/her] // luna serratos [she/they] nimue nkuna [she/he] // ramiel al-masri [he/him] reuben de la rosa [he/him] // rikki valentine [she/her]