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I wrote this before a comped tourney a year or so ago about the Chaos Lord of Nurgle I was using then in hopes to get bonus points :p Obviously I've kept the name around.

The Rise of Cannerus¤

“It is my duty to serve.” Oh how many times these words had fought their way to the forefront in the chaos of Cannerus’ mind. His thoughts swirled about constantly, never quite making the jump to expression, as he had learned was best for his kind. He had only been in service with the Ultramarines for a few years, yet deep inside he could feel his duty tearing away at something. He didn’t know what it was, only that it was being torn at constantly, consistently, and without cessation. He needed some spa-
“All marines of the 14th company report to sector 7, dock Beta for immediate deployment!” the blare of the loudspeaker in his room interrupted. It wasn’t much of a room, more like 4 bunk beds (nothing more than wire frames with thin mattresses) shoved into a broom closet and shared by just a few too many. Why even call it his? Imperial Cruisers seemed to spare nothing when it came to weapons, but certainly lacked a lot when it came to personal space, though that never seemed to bother anyone else all that-
“Cannerus, you freak, what are you doing! Get to the dock for deployment!” one of the other marines yelled through his vox grill. It was easy to say something ballsy when you had several layers of ceramite protecting you. Nonetheless, Cannerus replied as he did so many times, “I was only having a moment.”
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The deployment dock was an extremely large, open space filled with rows upon rows of blue-clad Space Marines. Cannerus loved nothing more than having a Veteran Sergeant yelling orders at him as well as what must have been at least two hundred others before waiting to deploy. It was always the same thing anyway. He would frequently take these times to reflect on what had happened and to amp himself up for the coming fight. The memory always started the same, an eager young boy wanting to be like the “heroes” he had known, going off to fight in the Grand War from his tiny home world of Artellius IV. The rigorous acceptance process had discouraged him many times as he advanced, but, after what felt like an eternity, he had made it in. He remembered laying there for his Gene Seed implementation, the painful process as it combined to his body, and, most of all, the growing feeling that something just wasn’t right. It had been weeks before anyone paid mind to his outcry, and only after bringing up the potentially contagious nature of the strange boils growing from his hip and back did he receive any form of care. After testing they had told him that his body wasn’t reacting entirely properly with the gene seed, that it had tried to reject it and had given up, and if only he had brought it up sooner they could have fixed it. It was then he learned two life-altering truths: he had a bizarre cancer and was going to die, and never dare let his voice fall upon those who would not hear it.
It was just about that time that the other marines began filing into giant drop pods. This type of deployment was usually reserved for a fight that had already begun. He stepped willingly into place, and the pod rocketed towards the planet beneath. He didn’t know the name, nor did the planet need one. It was just a planet, just another fight. Admittedly though, the fighting was what drove him to do his “duty.” It was the only bright point in a million points that weren’t dark, more lackluster and grey. He supposed he should be thankful for these opportunities. Why couldn’t he just consider his duty his own, rather than separating-
The pod shook as it struck what was presumably ground. The hatches dropped and light poured in quickly, his enhanced senses attempting to detect what lay immediately outside. At first he couldn’t breathe upon seeing it. The sight was too much to bear. If this were his fight to win, he wouldn’t have known it. Thousands upon thousands of slimy, green, man-sized – things were coming in waves too numerous to count. There were men too, or what looked like men; sick and twisted, they were mutated and grotesque, yet that seemed to bother him less than their sheer numbers. The waves came surging forward before he knew how to respond, his brothers-in- arms immediately raising their bolters and unleashing the heaviest streams of fire they could. He was on the front line, and he could feel himself shake with anger because he knew why.
The fight was over for him before it even began. As the waves of enemies came rushing closer and closer, now just a hundred yards away, he reached for his helmet. He didn’t quite know what he was doing when instantly he realized something. He had become something many of his brothers had never been -- completely self-aware. Just as the vile things came to slaughter his “brothers” – why did he call them that? – he ripped off his helmet. The full effect of his cancer could be seen, as half of his face was gone, and all that remained was a bubbly, mutated and awkwardly stretched semblance of a face. Miraculously the beasts passed right by, his – what did he call them? – falling immediately to his side in one explosive contact. A group of 10 or so men – what looked like men – were coming next and surely they would not spare him. Gathering his bolter, he did what he knew he had to – to fire on “his” own for the sake of survival. As the first few shots rang out he hesitated, not because he felt anything in particular, but more so to be sure that he looked convincing. As he held the trigger down again to let loose another hail of ammunition, he was startled to realize he had very little problem doing this. It almost felt – necessary. Within a few seconds he began feeling as though he was going to vomit, not physically, but emotionally; all of the years he had spent doing what he had for others, trying not to think of himself – for what? – the service of what he was, a rotting corpse. No one was greater than he, and no one was lesser; he simply was, and would have to fight to deserve his right to exist. The men had rushed by him, swearing that he saw one or two smirking as he rushed not too far behind, firing into the oncoming horde of blue-clad “brothers”-turned-enemies.
So was the birth of Cannerus into Chaos, having completed his first mission for father Nurgle having not even received a gift. Upon hearing this and seeing his potential (for his mind was strong, and he seemed to have an otherworldly sense for strategy), he was quickly promoted to his rightful place as a Lord among many others, thought not quite so many as before.
“Wait ‘til the time is right- then strike your foe down swiftly, for the pleasures of your duty, for the glory of Chaos!” °

¤The Librarians list this document as titled ”The Fall of Cannerus,” though in it’s original scribing, this was the title. It should also be noted that the document was written in what testing later determined to be a human body fluid.
°This is a quote from the ‘Tactica Cannerus,’ a heretical, instructional military text whose only known copy resides deep within the vaults of the black library. The writer of this document was obviously very familiar with the text.