Asmarael scowled when his bolter chocked out a single misfiring shell, then choked t a standstill. .<br/><br/>Seeing his battle-brothers enjoying themselves with the last ork—and crowding the filthy xenos quite effectively—Asmarael calmly tended to his bolter with prayers, offerings, and adjustments performed with the aid of his Astartese Omni-Tool.<br/><br/>“Well struck battle brothers,” Asmarael called through the corms with bellicosity that bordered on passion.  He slipped his multitool away in a large armored pouch, slipped a fresh bolt into his bolter, and stowed it over his back.<br/><br/>Upon entering the Grotways, the tech marine trade his chainsword for is combat knife and pistol, so as to better battle in close quarters.  That proved to be a non issue in the end.<br/><br/>“Very good work, Marius.  I know you have endured much.  Rest assured it is the Emperor's work you have done this day.”<br/><br/>Asmarael scowled for a moment as the intelligence was offered.  Ork artificers were twisted and vile, their tools cancerous and mutated machine spirits howling in pain.<br/><br/>He did a brief scan of the are beyond the door with this implanted auspex, checking if he could get them any extra details.<br/><br/>“Gaius, I need you to thin out the grotz for us when we go in.  Are you all ready?”