He was not the only one to fall, though; another was not as lucky as he, and took an autogun round to the face, snapping his head back as the rest of his body crumpled to the ground. They began to pull back; the cultists, for some reason, were desperate to get into close combat, so they would deny them that. They gave way slowly; the worst fate that could befall them now would be to get shot in the back... Though that looked like it just might happen after all; the far door squealed open, the rusted hinges giving way to the cultists feverent pressure. They withdrew into a circle; they were trapped. "Take them all with you, men. Fix bayonettes. Fire until you are empty, fight until your blades break, and drag them all down to the dark pits, so that we may rise to see the Emperor's glory." The front ranks of the enemy fell in a cloud of blood and smoke, as all the lasguns of the five of them who were left were switched to full auto. They couldn't miss. As he fired, though, the cultists not getting any closer, he noticed two things; some cultists, instead of trying to charge forwards, were dragging... no, aranging their dead comerades. The other, which he could hear even above the din of the lasfire, was drums... lots of deep, booming drums, beating to his heart's rhythm. He ignored it; with both sounds, blood flowed... the blood of the enemy, as they could not press in. They had stopped firing, sensing victory was near and in bloodlust to get into combat, no doubt, and that was their mistake...