egy káoszgárdista naplója 2: Black Crusade - angolul

“A Chaos Space Marine’s Diary: The Black Crusade”

Day 1, week 6
Awoke from sarge bellowing orders to everyone. Apparently, his majesty Abaddon’s fleet is due here tomorrow, and today was our last chance to do whatever we want to before we’re off to burn the galaxy. Having spent yesterday wisely, packing all my stuff and all that, I walked around camp all day. Arzhar was busy packing his gear, having some problems carrying it all with his new crab’s claw. Arturion, my bloodthirsty berzerking friend, was busy arguing with his sergeant. Apparently, their squad consisted of nine marines, while Khorne’s sacred number is eight. Not suprisingly, a member of the squad was removed (or at least his head was).
Payed a visit to the pit of slime, where the cultists and marines of Nurgle were busy gathering up their stuff. Watched them filling bags, bottles and buckets full with slime, and taking them to the landing-site. Obviously, they intend to “make themselves at home” in one of the ships. Their Champion, Traghius, offered me a final chance to join their squad, which I declined, although I don’t think he bought my excuse. (“Green just isn’t my colour...”)
Again, couldn’t sleep because of the big day tomorrow.

Day 2, week 6
Suprised to wake up late and find that the fleet hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone was so tence and excited, the landing site was crammed with marines and cultists alike. The Sorcerer was restlessly dipping his mind in and out of the warp, checking for any signs of the fleet arriving. The berzerkers were fighting amongst each other (friendly at first, but it ended with a bloody chainsword and a severed arm), the Plague marines were dozing in a huge puddle of slime, and the Slaaneshi were doing things a bit too rude to describe here.
About mid-day, a marine from Squad Zerus was executed by the guv for thinking that the Death Guard’s pre-heresy name was the Life Guard. (“I mean, it makes sence, doesn’t it...? What? The Guv?! Where?!!”) Thankfully, the guv was so busy with this that he never heard brother Xathras claim that there is a successor chapter of the Iron Hands called the Iron Feet.
Then finally, just as the second sun was about to set, gigantic black ships of the Black Legion fleet went into orbit around the planet. Huge transport-ships descended from the sky, and landed somewhere on the horison. Everyone was so disappointed that they hand’t landed where we had put out the signs, except perhaps brother Grax, who was still stuck in his pit, and the immature brother Draegon, who had written a poem and drawn a picture of Abaddon.
Upon arriving at the ships, our squads grouped up, and boarded the ships. We were all told that the main fleet had moved on to the next system, and that we would catch up with it sometime tomorrow. Unfortunately, all the squads except the guv and his Raptors had been crammed into one ship, and there was only one huge room that we all had to share. Dumped my stuff in a corner and then went and did nothing with the rest of the lads. This was kinda fun for a while, but we stopped doing it after a while since we didn’t want to take all the fun out of it at once.

Day 3, week 6
Last night was the worst night ever! Firstly, there was an incredibly strong stink of corruption and decay oozing from those damned Plague marines (Okey, I know we’re ALL damned, LITTERALLY, but you get my meaning). And through the night I was awoken several times by berzerkers cying “Blood for the Blood God!” in their sleep. One of them had even lashed out with his weapon while asleep, and in the morning I awoke in a puddle of blood next to a dead marine with a chain-axe dug into his chest.
In the guv’s abscence, we all had a merry time shouting out our best (and worst) jokes. I don’t know how many times I heard the words “World Munchers”, “Emperor’s Grandchildren”, “Thousand Daughters” and “Day Lords.” In the end, an execution was carried out by the sorcerer, who (it turned out) also has the right to execute, and who happened to be aboard our ship. He could have told us that he was present before brother Ixius shouted that thing about the sorcerer having lost his mind in the warp.
By mid-day, we had all had enough of the ship. The Tzeentchians were saying to each other: “We need a change of settings”, the Nurgloids were muttering: “We’ll never find that main fleet, there’s no hope for us”, the Slaaneshi were saying: “Let’s enjoy it while it lasts”, and the Khornates occasionally shouted “Blood for you-know-who!”
But suddenly, the sorcerer shouted out: “We are now approaching the main Black Crusade fleet, please fasten your backpacks and put out your cigarettes and the raging fire in you souls. Boarding will commence in a few minutes.” Minutes later came a large “clank!” from the ship, and before we had time to say “What the warp is going on?”, the main doors to our ship opened. Beyond was a vast hangar full of shuttles, fighters, recon-craft and assault-boats.
After exiting the dreaded transport ship in an organised fashion (well, not THAT organised, we’re Chaos after all), we were immediatly formed into ranks and adressed by some bigwig Exhalted Champion. Apparently, we were now aboard the ship “Immeasurable Rage”, and we had arrived just in time for his majesty Abaddon’s big speech. We watched it live from his battle barge on a big screen in the hangar, together with two other companies of marines.

“Honourable and not that honourable marines! Today our conquest of the galaxy officially begins.
Today is the day when the Imperium will once again hear the might of the Warp approaching, like herd of mutant elephants, the day when they will feel the black and slimy talon of darkness reaching out from the depths.
We shall once again sow terror in the hearts of the mortals, we shall once again be the ones who fan the embers of heresy into outright rebellion.
This time, they will not stop us, for the shadow of Chaos cannot be stopped. It will always be there, watching humanity from without, like a camouflaged moth on a tree, and corrupting humanity from within, just like boozed-up blood does when you’re drunk.
Alone and divided we will not have much hope of defeating the imperium, for they are many, and we are... not that many. But when the legions of despair, the chosen of darkness stand together, we are probably unstoppable.
And sitting on his golden butt with wires and pipes sticking out from every part of his body, the phoney emperor knows this. He thinks he has seen the gods at the peak of their powers, and knows that they are strong, too strong. But the beast of Chaos has not truly awoken from it’s slumber, and when it does, it’s powers will be beyond metric measure!”

At this point, I stopped paying attention and instead stood watching the hottest Keeper of Secrets I have ever seen in my life, which was hovering half-visible above the ranks of marines, in a cloud of sparkling smoke. By the time it had vanished, his majesty’s speech was finished, and there came a deafening roar followed by loud chanting from all the other marines. I joined in, of course, although I wasn’t quite sure what we were chanting. In lack of imagination, I chanted “Rights for Squats!” (Popular chant these days) Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice.
At the end of a long day, we were split up and sorted into different companies, so some of our squads were transfered to different ships. Squad Mhorkorus, the berzerkers, were teleported aboard the “Everlasting Fury”, a ship under command of one Lord Xenofexius, champion of Khorne. The Plague marines of Squad Traghius also departed, to form the Honour Guard (read: Odour Guard) of a Nurgloid champion known only as Infectius. And as for the guv, he and his squad of Raptors also left the ship, destined to become part of his majesty Abaddon’s 1st Company.
Finally, after a long day featuring a lot of waiting for orders, we were given cabin-keys. My cabin-mate turned out to be brother Furiax, a good friend (or “Battle Companion”; Chaos marines aren’t supposed to have friends, apparently.)

Day 4, week 6
Almost overslept on my first day in the crusade, as I was too fast asleep to hear sarge banging on the door with a powerfist (I didn’t wake up before he accidentaly smashed the fist THROUGH the door and knocked the already-awake brother Furiax back to sleep.)
Went to the main hall for a first day briefing and orientation together with the rest of the company. We were all glad to hear that we would get our bikes today, and after the Exhalted Champion Astralax had babbled uninteresting nonsence for what seemed like a few weeks (time flows differently in the warp), our squad were teleported aboard the fleet’s supply ship.
Once there, we entered the large storage-rooms, and made our way through mountains of crates, forests of chains and oceans of nuts and bolts, and finally found all the crusade’s bikes lined up neatly in a (long) row. We all picked out a bike each. I chose a newly captured imperial model, featuring the newest twin bolters and a neat skull-motif, which I chose not to remove. When everyone was satisfied, we got on our metal steeds and drove back to the teleport area. Only one of us managed to reach the destination without crashing or falling off: the multi-talented (and proud of it) brother Jaeger. Personally, I managed to drive full speed straight inside an open Land Raider, which hadn’t been so bad if there wasn’t already a squad of big and spiky terminators inside. Brother Furiax tried to do a wheelie, but he managed only to get thrown to the floor and getting knocked unconscious. His bike continued across the room, and a marine from another squad got his helmet-hair entangled in the bike’s front wheel. His head was twisted around several times before anyone came to the rescue, but fortunately the marine was daemon-possessed and didn’t feel a thing. Brother Halus, on the other hand, crashed into a crate of missiles, and it ended with explosive results. And to make matters worse, the near-dead Halus couldn’t receive any treatment for his wounds, since the fleet’s only sick-bay has been taken over by Fabius Bile. Brother Halus became our squad’s first casualty of the crusade.
When we arrived back on the “Immeasurable Rage”, we were given some important messages from Exhalted Champion Astralax. Tomorrow, biker-newbies are going to train their skills on some barren desert-planet. And the day after tomorrow, we’re going on our first raid!

Day 5, week 6
Landed on the desert-planet early in the morning, to begin practising on bikes immediatly. The huge open space really gave us all the room we wanted, and we quickly sped off in different directions. After three hours of practise and five hours of trying to find the rendezvous-point, our squad was back at the landing-site. Only one casualty, brother Bravius had apparently fallen into a huge pit with teeth, somewhere in the great ocean of sand. That leaves our squad reduced to eight marines before we’ve seen any real action.
Later, we received full briefing of tomorrow’s mission. Tomorrow, the fleet will be divided into smaller groups of ships, although his majesty Abaddon usually prefers his stuff to be “undivided”. Anyway, our company’s fast attack units have been selected to aid the Iron Warriors 11th Grand Company in assaulting the planet Selectius VII (We didn’t like this alliance one bit, but according to Lord Astralax: “...in a Black Crusade, you’ve got to be prepared for situations like this, blah blah blah...”) We all left the briefing in a bad mood, although I guess we’re going to Selectius tomorrow no matter how much we hate the Iron Warriors.

Day 6, week 6
Started the day with a last minute briefing with sarge, who had been told the battle-plans by the Warsmith of the Iron Warriors. Fortunately, it’s a fairly straightforward plan. Unfortunately, the plan consists of our squad driving full speed into an imperial-held trench-complex, where we according to plan are supposed to: “deal as much damage as possible, and stay clear of incoming Iron Warriors artillery-fire.” And of course, the always annoying last message: “Expect Imperial Space Marine resistance.” Shortly after the meeting, we all went and wrote “Despair!” on our armour. (Note: In case you wondered, this commonly displayed word has nothing to do with the end of the universe. Those who display it on their armour have simply been given hopeless missions.)

Selectius VII
At 0900 hours, local time, we descended on the planet Selectius VII. From the second we entered low orbit, our ships took heavy fire. Last minute orders and prayers to the dark ones filled the comm-system, and the first-glance terrain analyses were given to our squad. The words we heard had undoubtably been picked straight from the first page of the book “What a biker doesn’t want to hear”. The senctence “Bumpy, wet and muddy” stuck to our minds like leeches, sucking out every last drop of courage and hope.
The second after the door of our transport opened, like the maw of an nightmarish beast, we embarked with the deafening roar of deamonic engines. Squeezing triggers and spraying forth bullets as if our lives depended on it (which wasn’t far from the truth), Squad Sargoth raced ahead into the foggy no-man’s land. In our wake followed black-painted personel-carriers and the armoured giants of our Land Raiders.
We sped across the hellish half-swamp, our coloured tails of helmet-hair flowing in the wind, bullets, lasers and rockets coming straight at us and whining past our heads, providing us with a much-appreciated adrenaline kick.
As my bike skidded into a ditch and a bolter-shell strafed my shoulderplate, the bike ahead of me exploded, the colossal blast shaking the ground like the stride of a titan. Like a blossoming flower of fire, the explosion lit up it’s surroundings, and I was blinded by it’s white core. Infernal heat made my sweat pour, and cowering behind my bike like a beetle under a rock, I shouted through my comm-link “Taking heavy fire!”
A series of shouts, roars, screams and battlecries filled my ears as I reached for my trusted bolt pistol, acnowledging the fact that my metal steed could carry me no further. I lept forth from cover, and with the angry scream of a bolt-pistol firing, I emptied a magazine of bullets into the darkness ahead of me.
The fog of war was thick as a warp-storm, and my surroundings blacker than my soul. But undaunted, I strode forth with fiendish bravery, and gunned down a pitiful mortal before he had time to shout for help. The roaring noise of explosions was all around, and the booming pulse of bolter-fire filled the air. Another hapless target presented itself, a wounded imperial soldier striving to reload his weapon. A merciless slash of my sword ended his suffering, and I advanced through the war-zone, my eyes scanning the visible terrain for another victim; Another victim to be sacrificed to the ever-increasing might of Chaos! Muhahahaha, I love this job!!
Soon, the unmistakeable sound of incoming artillery-fire drowned the other noises of battle. The ground shook as explosive shells impacted amongst us, blowing men and machines to bits, and sending debris and severed limbs flying. The blasts blew us off our feet, and ear-shattering bangs made men scream in pain. Total havoc, absolute chaos, survival instinct was the only thing that controlled us. Men fought each other for the little cover available, and all sence of martial honour and bravery was forgotten as death rained upon us from above.
Sudden heavy-bolter fire could be heard nearby, and I was punched off my feet as a speeding shell hit me in the side, sending me to the ground in indescribable pain. As warriors clashed all around me, shouting war-cries and entering the fray suicidally, and I slowly sank into the mud, and my vision faded...

Day 7, week 6
Found myself lying bandaged in my bed when I woke up, with brother Furiax leaning over me. He told me that our mission yesterday had gone EXACTLY as we had predicted: Impossible terrain for biking, heavily outnumbered in enemy territory, and the Iron Warriors fire-support made things just as bad for us as for the imperials. Fortunately, most of the friendly casualties had been from squad Dravius, the other biker squad that had joined us in the assault. Squad Sargoth had taken only two casualties, brothers Vulkus and Rhengar.
Spent most of the day recovering from my injury, and discussing yesterday’s mission with the lads. At least Vulkus and Rhengar didn’t die in vain, as I learned that the forces of Chaos had won the battle yesterday, and already enslaved the entire planet’s population. But although the Iron Warriors received all the honour for the victory, their Warsmith simply replied: “About time!”
For fun, our squad went to the Word Bearers’ victory-party, celebrating that they had converted two entire planets to our religion in only one day. The party offered a lot of drunken praying, an unholy amount of wall-to-wall vomiting, and of course the Word Bearers sang their favourite drinking-song (as fast as they could): “How many words could a Word Bearer bear, if a Word Bearer could bear words?”

Day 1, week 7
Woke up without my armour, lying on my back on the Word Bearers’ Altar of Sacrifice which I vaguely remeber from last night. After regrouping with the rest of the lads and removing a large dagger from my chest (it had only pierced one heart, fortunately), we left the Word Bearers ship “Lorgars Hand of Fire”, and returned to our quarters on the Immeasurable Rage.
I received treatment for my wound, and I thoroughly regret my drunken descision last night (Being sacrificed to the dark gods WASN’T a blast after all...) But the Word Bearers have ten thousand years of experience when it comes to sacrificing stuff (especially marines), so how they managed NOT to kill me remains a mystery.
Later, Lord Astralax gave us the weekly crusade update. Tragically, almost the entire squad Varrus has been KIA (Killed In Action), and most of squad Mhorkorus has been SIA (Slaughtered in Action). I’m crossing my fingers (and the tentacle equivalent) that brother Arturion of squad Mhorkorus survived.
More unhappy news: the Nurgle champion Infectius has left the crusade without permission, to search for the Plague Planet. Under his command were numerous Plague marine-squads, including my mates in squad Traghius. I’m really dissapointed that Traghius and his lads have left us, and besides, it’s not like Nurgloids to do things like that, since they usually hate all kinds of change.
There was more news. Apparently, the Alphans were inches from defeat on Framork III. After the main battle-plan and four backup-plans had failed, their 5th backup consisted of calling for support from the Iron Warriors 9th Grand Company. The Iron Warriors commenced using their standard tactic, and almost fifty Alpha warriors, two bike-squads, three Rhinos and commander Hydraxus were accidentaly annihilated by their orbital bombardment. With the Alphans dead, the orks claimed victory, as the Iron Warriors were short on bombs, and ran out before the entire planet had been scorched.

Day 2, week 7
Early today, we were all told that the imperials have started offering some real resistance, and apparently, they plan on taking the fight to us. An anti-Chaos crusade has been formed from several chapters of Space Marines. These chapters have been selected to not only defend planets we attack, but also to be on the offensive, attacking the Black Crusade fleet. According to our sorcerer, a small number of space marine assault-squadrons are already pursuing us, which is bad news for our ship since it’s trailing at the very end of the fleet.
Most of the day was spent learning how to control our ship’s turrets, how to fight in deep space, and some of us were selected to learn piloting skills, so our assault-boats can provide some resistance when the imperials arrive.
After a few hours of the assault-boats racing each other round and round the ship, while the turret-operators practised their marksmanship by trying to hit us, we were back in the hangar bay. Squad Rhazior challenged us to a friendly game of Blood Hockey in a nearby asteroid-field, so we got back aboard the ships and headed for the asteroid selected for the game. The game was a good one (we won), though much fun is taken from a Blood Hockey game if it isn’t played with the full rules. The game really helped us ease up a bit, taking our minds away from the possible imperial attack on our fleet.

Day 3, week 7

Today, our squad agreed to do our part of keeping Blood Hockey a popular game for millennia to come. We decided on trying to preserve the rules by writing them down and putting them in a so-called “time capsule”. We all wrote down one part of the game each, and my task was to make a note of weapons commonly used in “Friendly-games”, like the one we played yesterday. Too bad it had to take up space in my dreaded diary, but here it is anyway:

1 One-handed mace: Useful for knocking out players without severing limbs or creating bloody wounds.
2 Knife: Light, frequently double-bladed, handy for stabbing your way out a crowd of players. In friendly-games, the blades are usually shortened, so they can’t penetrate dangerously deep into an opposing player. However, the knife’s major function is that it can be poisoned. Liquids that can (temporarily) make a wounded player weak, blind, hallucinate or go insane are popular.
3 Cattle-prod: Electrically-charged device which inflicts a mild electro-shock when in contact with a player. Good for making a player lose his concentration, excellent when aimed at players’ weak spots.
4 Grappling-device: Launches a hook with a piece of rope attached to it. Incredibly handy for pulling players to the ground, making players trip, and if wielded with expert skill, snatching the skull from enemy players.
5 Net: As simple as it sounds. For better results, the net can be dipped in tar or glue before a game.
6 Small creature: Some players bring a lucky creature with them onto the pitch. Varying from familiars and Nurglings to baby goblins and giant spiders, a creature can prove very effective if trained to perform useful tasks on the pitch. And if it doesn’t obey, throwing it in the faces of opposing players or holding it’s tail and swinging it around like a flail works too.
7 On worlds where the devices and weapons above are hard to come by, all manners of crude devices are used: Rakes, spades, hammers, saws, slings, handfulls of sand, rocks, sticks, and if nothing else presents itself: bare fists and fingers with sharp nails.

After writing it all down and placing a copy aboard a space-coffin which we shot into space, we decided to pay a visit to the Emperor’s Children. We had heard that yesterday they suffered terrible losses during the easiest of missions, thanks that pesky Legion of the Damned. You can be sure that when victory is in sight, those black-armoured bastards will show up in their usual fashion and “save the day.” We jumped aboard a transport and headed for the Slaaneshi ship.
We arrived on board the ship to the strangest of sounds. Lying about in the hangar, we found a small group of Noise Marines, who were jamming half-heartedly with their sonic-weapons while they smoked at least three joints each. Those who didn’t wear helmets looked like hell, drooling and staring into the air with their empty eyes. (Note: Don’t ever have a speaker operated into your mouth. It looks really unconfortable!)
We continued into the ship and found the corridors and halls littered with Slaaneshi marines and cultists, lying about just like the Noise Marines. Many of them were wired up to the drug-outlets in the wall. They babbled nonsence and sighed with satisfaction, cuddling together in heaps, the cultists caringly polishing the armour of the marines while they wispered sweet lines of decadence into their ears. The walls were covered in multicoloured grafitti, displaying rude pictures as well as beautiful landscapes from the most idyllic daemon-worlds.
We finally found the officer in charge, a newly appointed Chaos Lord (or Drug Lord, as Slaaneshis prefer to be called) who told us that yesterday their inspirational and much loved former leader had been killed, and very few had survived the ambush of the black marines. We soon left the depressed Emperor’s Children, since they proved no fun when all they wanted to do was die high.

Day 4, week 7
A massive fight broke out in the mess this morning. We were eating breakfast with squad Rhazior when sarge and sergeant Rhazior got annoyed with each other for some forgotten reason. Rhazior punched sarge in the face with his powerfist, and soon we were all fighting. During the early stages of the fight, two speeding bullets bound for my head somehow hit each other in mid air, both getting knocked out of course and killing two marines from Squad Rhazior instead! (Can it have had anything to do with my extra prayer to Tzeentch last night?) Anyway, I was the great hero of the battle, single-handedly rescuing brother Fermicus from the clutches of squad Rhazior, who had fortified themselves in the kitchen. My combat-skills with the saucepan became legendary today, since only a few marines had brought along their weapons to breakfast, and I wasn’t one of them. (We haven’t had to bring weapons to breakfast since that time back on Ytholgar, when the chef served Nurgling-stew without killing the Nurglings first.)
Spent the rest of the day cleaning up the mess in the mess after the fight. I KNEW brother Fermicus had gone too far when he fired a missile into the kitchen to avenge being held hostage by squad Rhazior. And trying to breach the kitchen-wall by catapulting the huge stewpan at it wasn’t the brightest of ideas either. And we all thoroughly regretted igniting the oven-gas, since the resulting flame-blast had ruined the oven and burnt a week’s worth of food. Squad Rhazior were sent down to a nearby planet to get more water, since they had used up all the water by boiling it and hurling it out the kitchen-door at us during the fight. And they were also given the responsibility to replace the mess-tables which had been used as barricades, the meat-steaks which had been used as clubs, and of course the kitchen crew, who they had used as gun-fodder during our first assault.
Later, brother Xathras and I went around the ship looking for fun. We found a teleport-homer in the hangar, and Xathras “over-focused it’s proximity-level” (Don’t ask me what that means, but it sounded cool.). Then we managed to hide the homer inside the Dreadnought “Blackwound”.

Day 5, week 7
Awoke to some shattering news. Apparently, during a Deep Strike mission last night, our company’s entire squad of Terminators had been killed, and we’d also lost a Dreadnought! It was really a freak accident: All the terminators had materialised INSIDE the Dreadnought when teleporting down to the planet-surface. Xathras tried to assure me that what we had done with the teleport-homer and the Dreadnought yesterday had nothing to do with the accident. But I don’t really care, since a vital part of being a Chaos marine is to not care about anything!
More bad news, perhaps even worse than the first. Brother Jaeger from our squad had the most terrible nightmares last night. He witnessed the death of our beloved Warmaster at the hands of the false Emperor. You see, deeply ingrained within our Black Legion' gene-seed is the encoded experience of Horus, and many say that most deeply imprinted of all is the memory of his final battle with the Emperor. Sometimes an event or circumstance will trigger this memory. This appears to happen only rarely, often on the eve of battle, and it is likely to be a fatal experience for the warrior whose mind is suddenly wrenched into the distant past. What has become known as the Black Hatred overcomes him, the memories and consciousness of Horus intrude upon his mind, and dire events ten thousand years old flood into the present. This we know to be true. To others, a Chaos Space Marine overcome by the Black Hatred appears half mad with fury: he is unable to distinguish past from present, and does not recognise his comrades. He may believe he is Horus upon the eve of his destruction, and that the bloody battles of the Horus Heresy are raging around him. As well as Horus’s memories, the Chaos Space Marine is touched with a small portion of the Warmaster’s unearthly power, boosting the warrior's already prodigious strength and vitality to superhuman levels. Those Chaos marines who suffer this condition are formed into units known as the “Eyes of Horus.” That’s where we’ll find brother Jaeger from now on. I THINK the imperials have an equivalent of our “Eyes of Horus.”
Later, Sarge showed us a ten thousand years old picture the Guv, the only guy we know who’s been around since the days before the Heresy. Can you believe that GREY was our fashion in those days? It makes ya think...

Day 6, week 7
This morning, by sheer coincidence, I bumped into brother Arzhar. He’s joined squad Dharkos, the possessed, and is having one hell of a time scaring the ***** out of the enemies they face. And if a creature like Arzhar comes running towards you, you’ll either wet yourself with fear or fall to the ground laughing. Either way, Arzhar will have the advantage. Also, he’s been gifted more goodies from the gods, including the arm of a praying mantis, the backside of an elephant and some monkey’s ears. He introduced me to his squad, basically a bunch of crazy daemons using dead marine bodies as vehicles to move about in the material universe. Charming.
Felt like doing something evil (it’s perfectly natural for a Chaos marine), so brother Xathras and I teleported from ship to ship, telling all the other legions how our genius of a primarch had corrupted their primarches. You should have seen the look on the Iron Warriors warsmith when we told him that it was Horus, not the Emperor, who had been giving the Iron Warriors all those hopeless missions in the days before the heresy. It was priceless! However, our fun was cut short when the Word Bearers proudly announced that they had turned to Chaos before Horus did. But then we went to the Night Lords and reminded them that their primarch was killed by a puny female imperial assassin. Finally, we dropped by an Alpha Legion ship. Annoyingly enough, we couldn’t find any flaws to make fun of, but shouting “Alpharius was a fool!” (even without anything to back it) conjured up the reaction we were looking for. Perhaps we hit a nerve...
Later in the evening, just before we were about to retreat to our quarters for the night, came the devastating news. Lord Astralax came to our squad and delivered us the message. Squad Sargoth is in danger of being disbanded! According to Astralax, there have been so many complaints against our squad that his majesty Abaddon feels he has no choice but to get rid of us. Fortunately, Astralax managed to convince Abaddon to give us one last chance, which we’ll really have to take, since there was no shortage of reaons why we are the legion’s major liability. Firstly, there was our tendency to party wildly, not take our religion seriously, slaughter other squads in blood-hockey matches, not listen to orders being given, oversleep in the morning, download nude pics of N’Kari and other Slaaneshis on the ship’s main computer, all those things. And then there was the battle in the mess, our terrible bike-skills, our squad’s general disrespect to anyone except sarge, and last but not least the Dreadnought incident, which we are sure to be executed for if they ever find out who was responsible for it. Oh, and many members of other legions had complained about the little bit of fun we had earlier today, when we had run around taunting them.

Day 7, week 7
Today, we were visited by a group of die-hard Nurgloids. Their Champion had newly been given the legs of a fly. Imagine trying to walk about on those thin little legs when you’re eight feet tall and wearing power-armour... Well, at least he can hang from the ceiling, and I guess it could be worse. One time back in camp I heard a story of a Slaaneshi Champion who was given a most unusual gift by his patron god. All his body-parts became erogenous. Whether this was meant to be advantageous or not, we will never know...
Later, we all teleported aboard the supply-ship which was passing through the fleet en route to the Eye. The ship was carrying all kinds of junk. Before we departed from it, I had got hold of a collection of Waystones, a shrunken ork-head, two kegs of some kind of drink, and Angron’s autograph signed in blood (probably a fake, since I doubt Angron really spells his name with a smiley at the end. Furiax found a fake “Forgebreaker”-hammer, a pint of old combat-drugs, a humourous parody of the Codex Astartes, and a crappy old weapon with “Mjalnar” engraved into it’s rusty blade. We also got our hands on an old map, quite fortunate, since we couldn’t get hold of any toilet paper! And who’s looking for the location of a so-called “Black Library”, anyway?
Later in the evening, our ship was almost hit by a two-tailed comet! We watched it zoom past our window and impact on a nearby planet. We were originally scheduled to virus-bomb that planet for fun, but Lord Astralax assumed that the comet had probably already caused some serious destruction. And when a comet impacts on a planet, it’s gonna destroy a little more than just a single town. Trust me.

Day 1, week 8
Today, we woke up to find that the Tzeentchian cultists aboard the ship had been quite busy during the night. Driven by their need for constant change, they had been re-furnished every room, re-painted many of the walls, and done an impressive cleaning-job: All the filth and snot and slime which used to lie around was gone! Unable to do much, the unimpressed Nurgloids settled for “Okay, as long as it stays this way forever.” After all, they couldn’t just CHANGE everything back to how it used to be, cause Nurgle hates change! So narrow-minded, those gods...
After quite a dramatic start to the day (We still can’t find where the Tzeentchians have put our backpacks!), everything was ready for the annual Daemon Festival! With the combined effort of several Sorcerers, a small warp-gate was opened right inside the hangar of our ship, and daemons poured fouth from the depths of the Realm of Chaos. All kinds of games and activities were organised by a Daemon Prince, and we all had a hell of a time. Brother Furiax and I competed in a game of “Squash the Nurgling”, where the aim of the game is to squeeze the biggest amount of pus and slime out of a Nurgling. Even though Furiax’s nurgling was twice as bloated as mine, I easily won thanks to my tentacle-arm, which I wrapped round the little sucker and squeezed until every drop of slime was in the measuring-bucket. (Afterwards, I made a hat out of the empty Nurgling, which I gave to Furiax.) Later, we went to watch Sarge try a round of “Jugger-riding”, which is as simple as it sounds. It’s a rodeo-style game, except in this case your goal isn’t simply to stay on the creature’s back, but also to stay alive. Anyway, Sarge lasted for ten seconds, which was the new record, and so his life was spared. I really wanted to try out my skills at “Disc-surfing”, but one had to be a member of the Cult of Tzeentch in order to participate. So instead I went to arm-wrestle a Horror, followed by a trip over to the Fleshound-racing, where I won ten quid on Hound number 8. Then we watched an intense duel between Sarge and a Bloodletter. Sarge was just about to have his head chopped off when the Bloodletter was suddenly needed for a large Daemon-battle in the Realm of Chaos, and had to leave at once. Finally, I went and had a go at the always-popular game “Spank the Daemonette”. The fun ended when the warp-gate closed (those damned Sorcerers, can’t even hold a warp gate open for a day without dying of mind-boiling!) and all the daemons returned to the warp.

Day 2, week 8
As always on the day after the Daemon Festival, the annual Chaos-awards were dished out. The first prize for “Most entertaining individual” went to Khornate Lord Xenofexius, for his stunning skill and feriocity with his one-handed great-axe. He was quoted saying “I like to make an entrance, also into the fray!” and also “Blood for the Blood God!” Second prize went to Hasmodion, Sorcerer Lord of Tzeentch, for his spectacular pre-battle pyrotechics-performances. Third place was awarded to the Slaaneshi Daemonette who used her belly-dancing/butt-shaking performance to spellbind an entire Imperial Guard regiment, before a force of Iron Hands landed on the planet. They weren’t quite as impressed. Although the daemonette was banished back to the warp, rumours say she can return to the mortal realm whenever, wherever...
Other awards were:
Most entertaining legion: Emperor’s Children (War, drugs and musical entertainment together in one)
Most boring legion: Iron Warriors (Trenches and ranged warfare, anyone?)
Least read book: “Whistle while you work”, a documentary on the psychological effects of long-term trench-digging, by Warsmith Potassius.
Most entertaining battle: Death Guard vs Space Wolves on Vindobona III. The Plague marines carried rabies...
Second most entertaining battle: Night Lords vs Iron Hands on Kretius V. The Night Lords triggered an electromagnetic pulse, which rendered every cybernetic limb on the battlefield useless. Night Lords causalties 0%, Iron Hands casualties 100%.
Most sought-after item (for the 10000th year in a row, apparently): The other Talon of Horus
Biggest TV-event: Servitor-paralympics on Mars
Most “FUBAR” individual: Brother Arzhar of squad Dharkos (Yay, I know a celebrity!)
Most frequently used last words: “I die for the dark gods!”, “I return to the Eye!”, “Avenge me!,” and of course “I promise it won’t happen again, Abaddon!”

Day 3, week 8
Heard from some marines from the 1st company that Abaddon does combat-drugs. Some role model... He’ll probably end up dead in a bath-tub like they all do...
Our old guv, Estragor, has been to the Realm of Chaos and seen his own death! This is usually a great honour and advantage for any Chaos Lord, but not when he witnesses his own demise is at the hand of a lucky gretchin sniper, something which *****ed him off a tad. So, apart from keeping clear of all greenskin activity, Estragor is now charging suicidally into battle all the time, with nothing to fear as long as there are no orkoids present.
Later, our squad gathered to dicuss why the warp we aren’t seeing any action. We joined the Black Crusade expecting to get some fighting and bloodletting done, but so far our only real mission was that hopeless bike-attack ages ago. Soon we decided that we’re going to go out and find ourselves a mission of our own, since none of the superiors seem to bother about assigning any tasks to us. But only one squad isn’t gonna win much by itself, so before we do anything drastic we’re gonna try to see whether any other squads or individuals are willing to join us.
The rest of the day we all spread out and searched throughout the fleet for squads willing to join us, while Sarge stayed in our quarters, trying to figure out a mission. I talked to brother Arzhar for a while, and soon I managed to convince him to come with us. I told him and his possessed friends that I would give them further notice when we’ve found out more.
Late in the evening, we all gathered together to share information. Apart from me having “recruited” squad Dharkos (the possessed), it turned out that several other squads or members of squads were willing to join us. The entire squad Rhazior and squad Zerus had no hesitation in teaming up with us. Sarge had spoken with a Champion of Khorne, Mhorkorus, who was also easily lead by the promise of more blood and skulls. He and the remnants of squad his squad are also with us. Brother Furiax had established understandings with a small group of Raptors who were the only Raptors not allowed to join the 1st Company, for unknown reasons. And last but not least, the warsmith of the Iron Warriors 11th Grand Company has suprisingly enough agreed to lend us some of his precious warriors. It didn’t take much talking before he did, in fact, he almost INSISTED that his warriors should join us for this mission. We’re expecting them to bring along some heavy weapons. The warsmith also offered to get hold of some ships for us to use.
Finally, Sarge told us the plan. The day after tomorrow, we’ll rally our allies, board the ships provided by the warsmith, and head for the Ulixus system, where we shall attack a small asteroid-base containing some “information useful to the imperium but of no interest to us”, as Sarge put it. Finally some action!!

Day 4, week 8
Today, sarge informed us that the warsmith has already gotten hold of some ships for us. They are Black Legion ships, and the warsmith has registered their use in Sarge’s name, so he’s got responsibility for them. Very reassuring. But also, sarge has been promoted to lieutenant, not because he has excelled in the service of Chaos, but because he’s been around for ages. We’ll still call him Sarge, though.
Our crusade is falling apart! Yesterday, an entire squad of the 3rd Company died from something called Black Legionnaire’s Disease. And a few days ago, a squad of over-fanatical Word Bearers performed a ritual mass-suicide to honour the dark gods. The day before that, half a squad of Iron Warriors and hundreds of servitors died of exhaustion during the digging of a particularly long trench (their commander had grand plans of creating a battle-line spanning an entire planet.) And I’ve still not mentioned the force of Emperor’s Children who got stuck in the warp without having packed any drugs, and all died of abstinence. Well, all except for one of them who happened to be a necrophiliac, and who had the time of his life. And of course, the number of Plague Marines is constantly decreasing, since they have an uncanny ability to drown in their own slime and pus when sleeping.
Tomorrow, we go into action for the first time in ages. Everything is ready for our departure. The ships are waiting in the hangar-bay, the other squads are standing by, the Iron Warriors are ready, everything is set.


Day 5, week 8

Warsmith Hasmodius studied the many radars, screens and small lights on the control-panel infront of him. But more importantly, his ears were keenly listening for a crucial message which should be arriving through the speaker any moment. My men can be trusted, he tried to convince himself, as he turned to face the two hideous servitors standing behind him, their eyes expressionless, their cybernetic limbs motionless. The intense sound of their mechanic lungs breathing was the only sign that the two figures were alive at all. Hasmodius looked at one of them, and with a deep booming voice he gave a command.
“Make sure my shuttle is ready. Have my veterans board their transport ship.”
With series of clicks and beeps from within it’s chest and head, the servitor turned around robotically and left the room, his every footstep creating a sharp clank against the hard floor, as he wobbled through the door and down the corridor.

Brother-sergeant Zerus broke the silence in the small, dark room.
“Why hasn’t our warp-jump commenced yet?”
Unanswered by his black armoured comrades who sat all around, the eight foot superhuman warrior tried to get up, but the seatbelts held him firmly in his place. Frustrated and annoyed, he switched on the comm-link in his helmet. “Captain, this is Squad Zerus. What’s keeping us from entering warpspace? And tell me again why we’re stuck in these seats, will you?”
There was a pause. Zerus sat silently awaiting an answer, but there was no reply. Only seconds had passed before he lost his patience, and spoke into the comm-link once more.
“I repeat, this is Squad Zerus. What are we waiting for? Let’s get some action, shall we?”
No sooner had Zerus finished his senctence before the door to the room opened vertically, revealing two power-armoured silhoutettes standing just outside. The two Chaos Space Marines strode in through the door, their silver armour reflecting the light from the corridor outside. Both marines held flamers.
“If you insist.” said one of them coldly, before they both opened fire with their weapons.

Several minutes had passed before Warsmith Hasmodius received the message he was waiting for.
“Warsmith Hasmodius, Squad Zerus and squad Mhorkorus have been taken care of. My men are dealing with squads Rhazior and Dharkos as we speak. We’re ready to open fire at the “Immeasurable Rage” at your signal, my lord.”
A pleasuring wave of relief rushed through the Warsmith’s tense body. He had put his trust in lieutenant Kragh, and the he had not failed to deliver. Barely controlling his fiendish excitement, Hasmodius held down a button on the control-panel, and spoke.
“Excellent, lieutenant Kragh. But what of Sargoth and his squad?”
“I will deal with them personally, my lord.” came the answer from the speaker, and the Chaos Lord eagerly replied once more.
“Outstanding, lieutenant. I knew I could rely on you and your men. I’ll see to it personally that you will be rewarded for you efforts. Hold your fire for a few more minutes. I will be among you shortly. Hasmodius out.”
With this, he turned to face the servitor by the door. “Is my shuttle ready?”
With a monotone and soulless voice, the servitor answered.
“Yes, warsmith. Shuttle standing by for departure. Transports loaded and standing by for departure. Assault-boats armed and standing by for departure.”
Before exiting the room, Hasmodius reached for his pistol, and aimed at the control panel. One blast made sure that no records of the previous conversation would ever be heard by anyone, at least not until it was too late. Another, more whimsical shot put an end to the servitor’s miserable existence. Laughing cruelly, the Iron Warrior left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Lieutenant Kragh walked up to the massive door and peered through the screen, seeing the Black Legion marines stuck in their seats inside. There sat their sergeant, Sargoth, in the seat right inside the door. Kragh switched on the small mircophone by the door, and spoke to the marines inside through a speaker in the top corner of the room.
“This is lieutenant Kragh of the Iron Warriors. You’ve probably understood by now that things aren’t going exactly according to plan. That’s because warsmith Hasmodius has other plans, plans which you will not be alive to witness.” Kragh smiled to himself at the thought of what was to come.
“But I can reveal to you what is going to happen shortly after your demise. In only a few minutes, every ship in our possession will open fire on the ship “Everlasting Fury” and of course your own “Immeasurable Rage”.
Kragh paused for a while to let the news sink in amongst the trapped Black Legionaries. Looking through the small window, he saw the dark-armoured remain quite still. Had they heard him? Kragh continued:
“I wonder how Lord Astralax and more importantly Lord Abaddon will react when their trusted servants Sargoth, Mhorkorus, Rhazior, and Zerus suddenly open fire on their own fleet?”
Looking at the screen, Kragh noticed that the marines inside still seemed strangely calm. Not even one was trying to break free from his seat. Have the usually so hateful sons of Horus chosen simply to accept such a fate? Fighting his urge to open the door and find out, the Iron Warrior veteran spoke again through the microphone.
“It was in fact YOU who triggered this event. Had it not been for your foolish men, Sargoth, then we would never have learnt of how Horus used our primarch Perturabo to fight his worst battles for him, throwing his honourable warriors into the jaws of death whenever he had the opportunity. For this, you, Horus’s own sons, will pay!” The Iron Warrior spoke with a hate-filled voice, grinding his teeth together as he thought of those dark days of the distant path, the days before the Iron Warriors legion had finally broken free from the rule of the false emperor.
“Today starts our vengeance against Abaddon and his Black Legion! And when this news reaches Perturabo, sitting atop his iron throne in the towers of Medrengard, no Son of Horus will escape our wrath! And you can do nothing to prevent it!”
Kragh laughed through the microphone as he loaded his bolt pistol. Just before opening the door, he heard the sound which he had been waiting for. The sound of the ship’s cannons opening fire. And he knew the black marines heard it also. Sargoth’s fate was now sealed. The Black Legion fleet knew nothing of Hasmodius’s activities, and lieutenant Sargoth was responsible for every shot being fired. The Iron Warrior pushed the door-button. He loaded his pistol and took a step forward.
“And now, Sargoth, you will be the first to feel our wrath.”
Kragh hadn’t noticed the two empty seats inside.

Warsmith Hasmodius watched the constant hail of laser-blasts impact on the unshielded hull of the “Immeasurable Rage.” Not prepared for such an unsuspected assault, the gigantic Black Legion ship was defenceless against the relentless fire. Explosions blossomed all over the colossal behemoth of a spaceship, as a radio-message arrived on the bridge of the ship where Hasmodius stood.
“Lieutenant Sargoth, do you read me? This is Lord Commander Astralax of the “Immeasurable Rage”. Cease your fire immediatly!”
A broad and evil smile covered the Iron Warrior warsmith’s face as he listened to the frustrated voice of the Black Legion lord. If only he knew what was really going on.
“Repeat: Lieutentant Sargoth, do you read me? Cease your fire immediatly, or you will be fired upon!”
Looking across the short distance in space, Hasmodius saw several squadrons of Swiftdeath fighters exiting the hangar-bay of the Immeasurable, to defend their crippled starship.
“Their fighters have been lauched. Make sure the the anti-fighter turrets are fully manned and operational, and get our shields up.” At the warsmith’s command, the crewmen and servitors on the bridge hastily rushed from one control panel to another.
“And cease fire at the “Everlasting Fury”, and instead concentrate all fire on the “Immeasurable”. I want that ship destroyed before we enter the warp!”
Seconds later, the radio-link sounded once more. This time, the voice was a hate-fuelled roar.
“This is Lord Commander Xenofexius of the “Everlasting Fury”! You have opened fire on my personal ship, and such an action will not go unpunished! Prepare to face the wrath of Khorne!”
Xenofexius? What could he possibly do, wondered Hasmodius. From intercepting several transmissions, Hasmodius knew that the Khornate lord’s ship held no fighters and had virtually no operational turrets. Hoping that he had not overseen any flaws in his plan, the Iron Warrior looked anxiously across the control-panel, checking the radar for signs of any unwelcome visitors.

With a loud bang, Lieutenant Kragh was slammed into the wall with such force that his left shoulderplate almost splintered. He fell to the floor, but although his helmeted head was knocked hard against the solid metal surface, the Iron Warrior tried desperately to reach his bolt pistol which he had dropped to the floor. But he reacted far too slow. The next second, a huge and heavy armoured boot landed heavily on his stomach, making the Chaos Marine loose his breath. The boot thumped down again and again, and before Kragh had time to roll over, a sword was mercilessly stabbed into his torso from above. The blade found it’s way between two armour-plates, while a slimy tentacle slithered around the Iron Warrior’s throat like a serpent, strangling him.
“Get to the bridge and cease that fire imediatly!” shouted Lieutenant Sargoth with a strong, dark voice as he was cut loose from his seat by brother Fermicus. “Ghaurion, Furiax, leave him!” At their leader’s command, the bloodthirsty and enraged Chaos marines halted their efforts, Ghaurion’s tentacle arm loosening it’s grip, Furiax’s sword left buried in the Iron Warrior’s bloody chest.
Sargoth looked at the wounded marine wreathing on the floor, too weak to pull the deeply-stabbed sword from his torso. He soon stopped moving. Sargoth spat at the dying figure before exiting the room behind his comrades. Before he set off down the corridor, Sargoth gave another order: “Brother Fermicus and brother Xathras, attempt to locate squads Rhazior and Zerus! Rendezvous-point in the hangar-bay after we’ve taken care of the Iron Warriors.”

Hasmodius spoke into the radio, giving orders to his men aboard the other ships.
“Prepare to enter warpspace as soon as the Immeasurable has been destroyed. And be on the lookout for...”
He was suddenly interrupted by lieutenant Appolonus’s loud voice coming through the radio, accompanied by the sound of gunshots and screaming in the background.
“Warsmith, Lord Xenofexius and several squads of World Eaters have boarded our ship!! They’ve disabled our warp-drives, and might be attempting to...”
A mighty boom was the last sound to be heard from the radio, silencing Appolonus before he had completed his last sentence. And before Hasmodius could reply, the floor beneath him shook as the Black Legion Swiftdeath-squadrons opened fire on his ship. Three fighters roared past just outside the bridge, firing a salvo of shots which made the entire ship shake once more.
As Hasmodius staggered across the floor looking for something to hold on to, a weak and wounded-sounding voice sounded in his helmet comm-link.
“My Lord, a squad of ...of Black Legionaires have ... escaped and are rampaging through the ship... They.. they caught us off g-guard, and have ... released... ...”
For the first time for centuries, the veteran Chaos Space Marine lord felt mortal fear. Now there were no mine-fields or trench-lines between him and the enemy, no crippling artillery fire, no devastating Predators or Land Raiders. But desperately trying to retain his calmness, he spoke through his comm-link again.
“All men on the alert! Black Legionaires have escaped their cells! All marines to their posts!”
Then Hasmodius switched off his comm-link and turned to the bridge-crew.
“Close the blast-doors throughout the ship, and activate the internal corridor-turrets. Make sure no man reaches the bridge alive.”
The ship shook again, pounded by fire from Black Legion fighters and starships alike, and soon the shields would not be able to deflect the incoming fire any more. Looking over at the near-destroyed Immeasurable Rage, large pieces of debris floating about in space around it, Warsmith Hasmodius made up his mind.
“Initiate the jump to warp-space, and notify the other ships of our departure. Set the course for the Medrengard system. We cannot afford to stay here any longer.”

As the thick blast doors to the bridge closed with a hissing sound, but just as the Iron Warrior commander finally felt that the situation was under control, a cluster of unidentified ships suddenly appeared on the radar. And looking out into space in the direction the radar had pointed out, Hasmodius saw that a group of gleaming white ships had appeared in the distance. Imperial ships. They couldn’t have timed their arrival better, thought Hasmodius angrily. Firstly, destroying the Immeasurable Rage had taken much longer time than he had predicted, and now this.

Then suddenly there was a deafening bang followed by the screeching sound of metal being torn, and the startled Warsmith turned to see a large hole in the thick blast doors. Now standing inside the room was the most hideous of creatures, a terrible mutated beast twice the size of a man, tentacles and claws sprouting from every part of it’s body. Hasmodius couldn’t even make out it’s face, let alone produce his trusted bolter, before the hell-spawned thing charged at him. It’s numerous long limbs batted aside the Iron Warrior’s arms which he had haplessly raised to protect himself. The weight of the creature smashed Hasmodius to the floor, and a gigantic crab’s claw closed around his neck. The doomed warsmith screamed with pain as he felt his body crushed by the weight of the beast, and his legs and torso being pierced by long, razor-sharp scythes. Then the strong claw around his neck snapped shut. His severed head rolled across the floor, and stopped at the feet of a black armoured Chaos marine who also had entered the room.
“In the name of Horus, cease that fire immediatly!!” shouted lieutenant Sargoth loudly, pointing his boltgun at the frightened crewmen and servitors standing by the control-panels. They were quick to react, hastily pushing buttons, pulling levers and adjusting switches. As soon as the sound of the ship’s fire had come to an end, Sargoth pulled the trigger of his bolter, his merciless fire cutting down every single crewman and servitor on the bridge.
Brothers Ghaurion and Furiax entered the room through the hole in the blast doors. Sargoth acknowledged their prescence, before walking over to the control panel. The entire ship shook, and the marines barely managed to stay on their feet. His eyes panning the control-panel, Sargoth spoke to his marines.
“I have to contact Lord Astralax and explain the situation. The Iron Warriors have tried to destroy Black Legion ships, and framing our squad for doing it.”
He turned and looked with disgust at the foul Chaos Spawn, lying on top of the dead warsmith’s body, gnawing a severed arm. Blood was everywhere.
“Take Arzhar and go to the hangar bay, where squads Zerus and Rhazior should be waiting. Board the transports which have warp-drives and enter warpspace. Astralax may not be convinced that Warsmith Hasmodius framed us, so we’ll take no chances. Staying here might get us all killed.”
Ghaurion spoke.
“But lieutenant, what of yourself?”
Sargoth stood silent for a moment, then answered.
“I will stay to pay the price for our failure. If it is the will of the gods, then we shall meet again. Go now, while you still have the chance.”
With this, the marines coldly obeyed their leader’s orders and left the room, dragging the hideous monster with them through the hole. As the marines made their way to the hangar-bay of the ship, several squadrons of Space Marine fighters closed in on the Black Legion fleet.

“Divine Servant, this is Captain Lyonis of Gauntlet Squadron. A number of fleeing traitor transport-ships are initiating their warp-drives. We’re moving to intercept.”
The space marine calmly twisted his flight-stick to avoid a large piece of debris floating through space. With the speed of lightning, his squadron of ATTACK CRAFT sped through space towards the transports, their cannons opening fire as soon as they came within range. The few answering turrets mounted on the transports were quickly blasted out of action, and the defenceless ships could do nothing as they were singled out and destroyed one by one by the ruthless and efficient White Consuls.
“Gauntlet leader, the last transport is avoiding the Emperor’s wrath. Make sure it does not escape, Captain.”
Captain Lyonis looked at his flight-radar, and watched the last blinking red spot disappear from the screen. Too late. Lyonis had been trusted to inflict the Emperor’s vengeance upon each one of the traitors, but had failed to deliver. Now only the divine Emperor could forgive him.

....(Much later)...


“Attention unidentified Chaos transport, this is the battle-cruiser Rotblade of the Death Guard. I command you to respond, in the name of Nurgle!”
Ghaurion dragged himself to his feet, and walked slowly over to the communication-systems. Finally someone had received his distress-calls. This was his last and only chance. For how long his transport had drifted through space, he did not know. Months, years, decades perhaps. He had no idea how long it had been since brother Furiax and Arzhar the Chaos Spawn had died. Since then, he had been all alone. All the servitors and crewmen had been killed during the first days, the Chaos Marines having fed on their warm flesh since there was no other food available.
Gharion was no navigator or fleet officer. The Chaos Marine had barely managed to stay alive aboard his transport, let alone guide it through the sea of stars. Looking over at the large grey battle-cruiser which had newly entered the system, Ghaurion felt his supernatural body struggle to stay on it’s feet as he switched on the comm-link.
“Calling Rotblade. This is Brother Ghaurion .. of the ... Black Legion. My...“
Ghaurion’s vision darknened. He heard his own voice fade, and suddenly felt extremely weak and weary. For so long his body had tried to stay alive, for so long had the Black Legionnaire clung to life as it slowly slipped through his fingers. Now his time had come, and Ghaurion felt it. He felt the very Immaterum surge into him, through him, pulling his damned soul from it’s mortal body and into an eternal black depth. Twisted faces appeared before his eyes, screaming and gibbering voices echoed inside his head. Daemons of the warp. They were his masters now. Serving Chaos is a gamble that every mortal is destined to lose, how had he not realised this? But amongst the low mumbling, loud, insane laughter and nightmarish screeches, Ghaurion heard another voice. A different voice, coming from the mortal realm, from the communications radio. And although it seemed distant, he heard every word.
“Ghaurion...? Doom-drinker, is that you?”

A második rész!

Jó röhögcsélést!