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CHAPTER 4 IS NOW UP!

My first fanfic, or rather, the first I've ever been confident enough about to share. If you think this story's bad, you should see the novel I'm working on

COMMENTS PLEASE

Oh and NO, the story's not about a cookbook for how to eat Daemons of Khorne Sorry to disappoint.



To Serve Khorne...

Part I: Ascension [b]

“FORWARD! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!”

The creature, a spawn of the warp, was young and did not know his true name. It was irrelevant; a name meant little to a Bloodletter. Blood, killing, battle, skulls, that was all that mattered to him. He led his brothers in the charge, the unofficial leader of his unit, his pack. The previous Bloodreaper had fallen in single combat against an enhanced soldier of the Anathema, his energies yet to reform in the warp. Thus the young daemon led his pack, though he had not yet been officially made its new Bloodreaper, an oversight of course.

He led the charge against the terrified humans’ flank, climbing over their pitiful barricades. In the thick smoke caused by their weapons, most did not see them until it was too late. Those that did pissed themselves from fear. Cowards, the Daemon thought. By the time he made his first kill with his blade, striking the petrified Sergeant with such force his body was nearly cleaved in two, the rest of the unit was already routed. Some turned to fire as they fled. One, two, three of his brothers roared in rage as their bodies were struck, dispersing into energy back into the warp. The Daemon pressed on, swiping and slashing, loving the wet crunching sound as his sword shred through armor and flesh and bone.

The entire unit, thirty men strong, was butchered in less than two minutes. The Daemon himself made the last kill. Of the entire unit, only one had shown no fear. He dressed different from the others, wore a black hat and coat. He charged headfirst into the Bloodletters, killing three before the Daemon reached him. His roared to his remaining pack, down for twenty strong to just nine, to stand back. This human’s skull belonged to him!

The man with the black hat raised his sword and charged, his eyes filled with rage and resignation. The Daemon could not help but feel a sense of kinship. No doubt the man’s soul would reform in the warp as a Daemon of Khorne, in due time. The Daemon stood his ground, his sword down at his side. At the last possible second he grabbed the human’s sword with his bare hand, stopping it. It sliced into the Daemon’s palm, that only served to make him angrier. Other Daemons would have toyed with the Human, mocked him or tortured him. But this was a Daemon of Khorne. With one swipe he sliced the man’s head clean off, which such speed and power that the wound was instantly cauterized, no blood came out, much to the Daemon’s disappointment. Still, gripping the head, he raised it high and roared, his brothers joining him, chanting the name of Khorne.

All round the pack the battle raged on. Scores and scores of Bloodletter packs threw themselves at the human’s defense lines. Entire packs were lost to the cowardly volley of the human’s pathetic lasguns. But for every Bloodletter killed, ten more took his place. Soon every defense line was overrun. The tear in reality grew larger with every kill, with every drop of blood spilled in the name of the Blood God. The larger Daemons of Khorne began to burst out of it, Bloodcrushers on their mechanical monstrosities, riding at full gallop towards the enemy lines. Behind them a Herald of Khorne, a great Bloodletter who could control his rage in the name of strategy, read from the Grimore of True Names, making the already mighty Juggernauts all but unkillable. The young Daemon saw them when they crashed into the only defense line that still held. It was not a fight, but a massacre, a glorious massacre. Those that were crushed outright but juggernauts metal bodies were torn apart by a flurry of Hellblades and metal teeth.

From the Warp portal, more of the Daemonic faithful burst out. Soul Grinders, great spider-legged mechanical engines, set about destroying the few Leman-Russ tanks that remained. Flesh hounds came out and ignored the main fighting and set about on their duties; finding the cowards who fled from battle and abandoned their brothers. The first scent they picked up was that of the Human General, who at the first sign of Daemonic Incursion had taken all the valuables from his lavish home and raced to his personal Vendetta gunship. The hounds caught sight of him as he hurried with his last treasured possession, a large ancient painting of some old Terran wargod. The sight drove the hounds into frenzy. It was one thing for a conscripted man to tuck tale and run, but a general!? A leader that abandoned his men to die was something Khorne hated beyond all other things.

The hounds were at the landing pad within seconds, their great legs striking the ground like thunder as they charged. The so-called general saw them, fell to his knees and begged for mercy. This only made the hounds madder when they caught up to him. Twenty seconds, exactly twenty seconds passed, and then there was no trace of the general, not even a scrap of clothing. Nothing, save for a puddle of blood, which the hounds, still licking their chops, set about drinking from, their thirst never fully satiated.

The chaos cultists that had summoned the daemons also partook in the slaughter, but only when it was safe to venture out. Such stealth was normally frowned upon by Khorne, but they had a reason to be subtle. Soon the wound in reality would be large enough to allow a Greater Daemon through. But for that to occur, a mortal sacrifice was necessary. So they went about, slitting the throats of the wounded and dying. They took the blood and collected it huge goblets. Some they drank themselves, shouting Khorne’s name before gulping down the contents. Some they cautiously offered to the Bloodletters, who snatched it from their hands, but like them, roared Khorne’s name before drinking.

With his excellent hearing the Bloodletter heard all the sounds of battle, the gutting and the dying and slicing. It to him was like a melody, when he heard it he felt what a human would call happiness. But then, he picked up another noise, a sound coming from the barricading bunker in front of them. Commanding his brothers to be silent, his went to the entrance, held shut by two great metal doors. The Daemon thrust his blade in between them, using his nigh-unbreakable weapon to pry them apart. A pitiful scream came from inside as he did so. It was pitch black inside the bunker, but with his supernatural sensing the Daemon could already see what was inside. Humans; women, children, old ones, they all starred at him from the doorway, eyes wide, their ragged faces frozen.

For the first time in his short existence, the Daemon hesitated. These wretches did not fight, in many cases they could not fight. Khorne cares not from where the blood flows, only that it flows! With a roar that shook the huddled humans out of their shock, the Daemon charged in, his brothers behind him. The air filled with the screams of the dying, but only for a moment. Then again it was quiet.

The slaughter complete, the sounds of battle dying down, the pack of Bloodletters dispersed, a few picking among the dead, looking for the skulls of those they had felled, some boasted to their brothers, telling them of the great kills they had just made. Others still fought with each other, honing their swordplay. The young Bloodletter went back to the now stinking pile of civilians, fresh blood still oozing from their wounds. Their skulls unworthy, they had simply been left to rot where they fell.

Something was bothering the Daemon, something nagged at his mind. These humans had been unarmed, weak, and pathetic. Their blood had been thin. And yet the Daemon replayed their slaughter in his mind, again and again. Something about it had not felt…correct. Regret, the emotion was as alien to the Bloodletter as tranquility or sorrow. Yet the more the Daemon thought about it, the more he believed that if the situation occurred again, he would act differently. A movement caught the Daemon’s eye, a rustling from the corpses. One of the humans was still alive, a young girl, her face already wrinkled and aged by her harsh life. The slash down her torso oozed fresh blood, the smell intoxicating the Daemon. It was deep wound, but not fatal. He went up to her and readied his blade. The girl looked up at him, her dull brown eyes wide, yet calm.

The Daemon raised his blade and paused. Why, why should he use his blade on this weak creature? Its blood would bring little sustenance, to him or to Khorne. She was unworthy. Lowering his blade, and with a snarl on contempt, the young Bloodletter turned away from her and returned to his brothers.

* * *

The battle was won. The air was filled with the roars of the Servants of Khorne. The young Bloodletter called his brothers to attention. The skulls they collected were laid out in front of the Bloodletter who had made the kill. The Daemon, naturally, had the most; Eight. Eight! The favored number of the Master! His ascension to Bloodreaper was assured!

Enough blood had been shed, the chaos cultists were ready. They brought forth one of their number, a strong, proud man, and drenched him the spilled blood, from head to foot. Crying out Khorne’s name, the man took a knife and slit his own throat. He fell to his knees, his body began to convulse. In an instant the man was torn to pieces, and a new warp portal was formed from his corpse, a special one…

There was a great gust of wind as massive wings tore through the air above. With a great thud, the Bloodthirster Muro’ntoragth landed in front of the cultists, snarling. So great was his form that his shadow seemed to cover covered the whole battleground. A hush fell over the Lesser Daemons as they bowed in reverence, for he above all other Servants of Khorne represented what they were, and what they wanted to be.

The remaining cultists stood tall and raised their heads, offering their necks to the great daemon. Muro’ntoragth sliced of the heads of all of them with one swipe, all but one. The last cultist, their leader, a small, thin man who nevertheless was a killer unparalleled skill, who had opened the first warp portal, the Bloodthirster did not kill.

“It is by your actions that so much blood is spilled on this day, mortal. The Master is pleased. For your service, you are to be rewarded.” With those words the humans began to convulse and spasm. A scream of pain echoed from the human as his physical form began to twist and grow, great wings burst from his back. The scream degenerated into a cackling laughter that grew deeper and hoarser. His transformation complete, the Daemon Prince spread his wings wide and roared up towards the heavens, his fellow daemons joining him.

The young Bloodletter watched this great envy and disgust. The filthy little ape had been a coward, using subterfuge and misdirection to spill enough blood to open the portal. He was not a true Daemon, and never would be.

With the battle done, the inspection of the ranks began. Muro’ntoragth and the Daemon Prince flew from pack to pack, checking their collection of skulls. Each Bloodletter stood in a straight line, in front of him the skulls of worthy opponents he had personally killed.

At last the Scions of Khorne came to the young Bloodletter’s pack. The 2 Bloodletters that had no worthy skulls to present, Muro’ntoragth slew on sight, their heads sliced off with but a flick of his great axe. To the others he went, snarling with disapproval at the ones with only one or two, until at least he came face to face with the young Daemon, who made sure to stand straight and look him straight in the eye.

“Eight,” the Greater Daemon of Khorne said, his voice so deep and so low as to shake the young Daemon to his very core. “The Master’s favored number.” Picking them up in his massive hand, the Bloodthirster inspected them, turning them this way and that. “You’re pack is without a Bloodreaper?”

The young Daemon nodded, doing everything he could to hide his excitement.

“Not anymo--.” The Great Daemon’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air. Slowly, his massive horned head turned towards the bunker. Not saying a word, he slowly approached it and peered inside, his head not fitting through the door.

“Did you lead this slaughter?” His eyes, and the eyes of all in the pack, were fixed on the young Daemon.

“Yes,” the young daemon said, no longer proud of that action.

The great daemon snarled, his wings twitched in agitation. The Daemon Prince beside him looked at the doors and laughed.

“One still lives,” said the former human. With his left hand, clawed and abnormally large from the transformation, the Daemon Prince reached into the bunker and pulled out the young girl. She was limp in his massive hands, but still alive. Her eyes were dull, her breathing calm. She had already accepted her fate.

“Why did you not take this creature’s skull?” asked the Daemon Prince.

The young Bloodletter did not hesitate to reply. “It’s blood is weak and it’s skull is unworthy. I will not let my blade taste weak blood.”

“Is that so?” The Daemon Prince gripped the girl tighter in his hand, making her gasp. The young Bloodletter’s pack watched this event with great interest. Since the death of their Bloodreaper, the young Daemon had taken it upon himself to lead his pack, attacking and killing others who challenged him with such wild abandon that soon none dared contest his status as Bloodreaper, even if it had not yet been made official. To see him now not want to kill confused them, they stared at him, turning their heads to one side like curious wolves.

The Daemon Prince turned to the Bloodthirster, who growled at the upstart Bloodletter.

“Khorne cares not from whom the blood flows, only that it flows,” Muro’ntoragth said.

To his own surprise, the Bloodletter found he already had a reply. “Khorne may not care, but I do. I will not kill those who cannot fight and provide me no challenge. My…my pride will not allow it!”

No sooner had he finished speak than the Daemon Prince was on him with a mighty roar. The foul beast leaped over to where the young Bloodletter stood, tossing the girl away, who landed with a dull thud among the Bloodletter pack, who were now to distracted to pay her heed. Before the Bloodletter could react, the Daemon Prince gripped him in his claws and picked him off the ground by his neck, bring him to eye level.

“You impudent little wretch, you are a disgrace to the Blood God, unworthy to serve him!” The Daemon grabbed the Bloodletter’s legs with his other hand and began to pull, slowly tearing him apart. The Bloodletter felt no fear, on rage. How dare this human thing assert command over him!? The young Daemon gave a loud scream of defiance.

“ENOUGH!” Muro’ntoragth roar was so terrifying the Daemon Prince dropped the young Bloodletter in shock. “You forget your place, human.” The Bloodthirster said the word as if it was the foulest of curses. “This young pup has taken the most skulls out of his pack. He brims with pride, and rightly so. All of his skulls were earned in single combat, in fair battle. While you, Arterious, you have stabbed a thousand of your species in the back to ascend to your current state. Do you truly consider yourself his superior, when I and all other pure Servants of the Blood God can still smell your Mortal stink!?”

The Daemon Prince glared at the Bloodthirster, murder in his eyes. But while he was now a slave of Khorne, he was not stupid. This was a fight he could not win. Slowly, Arterious, newly christen Daemon Prince of Khorne, bowed his head in submission. The young Bloodletter got back up to his feet and snarled the Daemon Prince. He stopped when he saw the Bloodthirster approach him.

“You are an, odd one, little pup,” the Bloodthirster said. “Your compassion towards the weak is amusing. But that does not hide the fact of your abilities. I see…potential within you.” The Bloodthirster turned back towards the battlefield and roared a command. “Are’ethallusiscis!”

A large Bloodletter, a Herald of Khorne, the one the young Bloodletter had seen using the Grimore of True Names to make the Bloodcrushers invincible, came running to the Bloodthirster's side, then great tome still in his hands.

“What is this young one’s true name?”

The Herald flipped through the pages of the tome, whispering the young Bloodletter’s true name to Muro’ntoragth, which will not be reprinted here due to being utterly unpronounceable by a human tongue. The young Bloodletter shuddered, as all Daemons due when their true name is spoken allowed.

“Very well. Kneel Bloodletter, Lesser Daemon of Khorne. From this day forth you shall be called Ira’nmalligus; Bloodreaper of you pack. Now stand, stand and be recognized!”

Ira’nmalligus stood, raising his Hellblade, which the Bloodthirster touched. With a flash of light, it turned into a mighty Etherblade, flickering in and out of reality. Ira’nmalligus raised his new weapon for his pack to see and gave the loudest roar he could muster. His pack roared in return and chanted his new moniker. Arterious, still bowing his head horned head, whispered curses and insults to Ira’nmalligus.

This isn’t over.

His ascension now official, Ira’nmalligus walked among his brothers, feeling as large as a Bloodthirster. He almost did not notice the human girl, in fact he nearly stepped on her. She was still alive, but barely, her breathing ragged, her clothes shredded by Arterious’ claws, the skin underneath bruised.

Finally noticing her, the entire pack looked down at her. She starred straight up at Ira’nmalligus. There was now a look of hate in her eyes, pure hatred for the new Bloodreaper. Ira’nmalligus snorted, but made no move to kill her. His mind had been made up.

“Your life will be sparred this day, mortal,” Ira’nmalligus began, speaking loud so that all heard him. “If only for the fact that you are so pitiful, so weak as to not be worth killing. Your blood is not worthy to mix the blood of true warriors. So this is my command to you; live. Live and become strong, because we will meet again. And when we do, you had better be able to put up a good fight.” The other Bloodletters growled and snarled at the human girl, their Hellblades shaking in their hands, eager to spill her blood. But their Bloodreaper had spoken, should would not be harmed by them. Muro’ntoragth could not help but chuckle at the sight. Indeed, this new Bloodreaper was a strange one!

Slowly, without sound, the girl found the strength to rise from the ground and limp back towards the bunker, where the bloating carcasses that had once been her family remained. Ira’nmalligus watched her as she left, strange feeling within him as he observed her. Yes, he was positive now, he should not have butchered those civilians. They were unworthy, it was not honorable.

I felt your hatred for me, mortal whelp. Grow strong for me, I desire a good fight!

Ira’nmalligus turned towards Muro’ntoragth. “What is your command, Great One?”

Muro’ntoragth looked up at the sky, at the fading sunlight, towards the stars that were beginning to appear. “The humans will send more warriors, this is an important world for them. For now, we wait. Do not fret, my brothers! We shall be spilling more blood in due time!”

* * *

For eight days and nights, the girl remained in the bunker, hearing the battles outside, never daring to venture out. She was forced to eat the flesh of the dead within for sustenance, to drink their blood. On the eighth day, a small force of Adepta Sororitas has landed on the now barren world to repair their damaged ship. They found the girl when searching the bunker, by then half-mad, her clothes stained in dried blood. In the years following, as she began her rapid advancement within the Sisters of Battle, she would forget most of what happened on those eight days and nights. All she remembered was a name, a name that her fellow sisters said she had been repeating over and over when they had found her.

“Ira’nmalligus, Ira’nmalligus, Ira’nmalligus…”

First of I must say this really suprised me, I expected a mortal main characther. You however suprsied me with your uniq choice, well done. Secondly well typed and well paced. Will be awaiting more of you in the future

Part II: Honor


The battle raged!

Victory had seemed assured, the humans were routed. What little defenses that still held were all but overrun, all tanks and transports had been destroyed. But then, at the last possible moment, reinforcements had arrived. Thick clouds of smoke from the battle prevented most from seeing their descent, but with his supernatural senses, Ira’nmalligus recognized the engine sounds of the approaching aircrafts. These were not vehicles of the regular human armies, they were of the enhanced warriors of the Anathema.

Space Marines.

Ira’nmalligus’ body shook with anticipation. He was tired of these frail little mortals that fell to a single blow from his blade. In the years since becoming Bloodreaper of his pack, he yearned for a real challenge. But unlike some of his brothers, his desire for blood never dulled Ira’nmalligus’ wits. He knew the Space Marines could not simply be charged head on, he would lose half his pack at least. Ira’nmalligus looked down at the mutilated bodies of the humans they had just slaughtered. There were so many…

Growling a command, he ordered his pack to lay the trap. The Bloodletters hid themselves among the corpses of the humans, and waited. Waited until they heard the rolling treads of the Rhinos. The heavy footsteps of the power-armored humans were then heard. Ira’nmalligus heard a voice giving orders to advance, the sergeant, no doubt.

He is mine.

With a roar, Ira’nmalligus sprang the trap. From all around the Space Marines, the Bloodletters sprang from the bodies in pure frenzy. Ira’nmalligus was not disappointed, the Space Marines did not run, they did not drop their weapons and scamper away or fall to their knees and beg for mercy. With a cry of their own, the Space Marines, clad in blue and gold, charged the Daemons head on.

Ira’nmalligus was confronted by two Marines, brandishing chainswords. He dodged the swing of the first, ducking under it. He parried the second, the chainsword’s teeth chipping and cracking away by the might of his Etherblade. Ira’nmalligus struck back, thrusting his blade right into the chest of the second marine, destroying his heart. The Marine died almost instantly. The first marine was still recovering from his missed attack when Ira’nmalligus attacked him, slicing off his left arm just below the shoulderplate. The Marine dropped his chainsword and grunted in pain, but he was not finished yet. Quickly recovering, the enhanced human drew his bolt pistol and fired point blank at Ira’nmalligus’ face. The Bloodreaper ducked just in time, but the explosive ammo caught his right horn, splintering it like a tree. Ira’nmalligus screamed in pain and rage. It had been a long time since any being had wounded him. Ignoring his shattered horn, the Bloodreaper swung his Etherblade once more, decapitating the marine in one clean stroke. Taking his fallen foe’s head, Ira’nmalligus held it up a roared. It was a roar of pride, of power, that was heard by all.

From across the field of battle Ira’nmalligus saw the Space Marine Sergeant kill two of his brothers at once with his lightning claws, spearing them both in the chest and hurling their bodies away. The Sergeant turned to face him, eyes narrowed and focused. Two more daemons rushed forth to attack him, but Ira’nmalligus roared for them to stand down. The Sergeant did the same when a marine raised his boltgun at Ira’nmalligus.

A challenge was given.

For a brief moment the battle ceased, Daemon and space marine alike turned to look as their leaders advanced towards each other. Somehow, perhaps by instinct, a circle was formed around the two by their comrades. No one else fought, all eyes were focused on the duel. Ira’nmalligus made the first move, leaping at the sergeant and bringing his Etherblade down for a vertical strike. The sergeant blocked the blade with one claw, and slashed at Ira’nmalligus belly with the other. The Bloodreaper leapt back, but the tip of the claws caught him, splitting his belly open. Being a creature of the warp, Ira’nmalligus had no internal organs to speak of, pure energy begin to leak from his wound. As with mortal blood, if enough got out, Ira’nmalligus would die and be banished back to the Warp.

The Bloodreaper fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. His fellow Bloodletters looked on in shock. The Sergeant walked over to him, never speaking, and pulled back his right arm, aiming his claws right for the daemon’s face. Ira’nmalligus’ mind raced. He had come so far, he still had so much to do. So much more killing! It could not end like this…

The sergeant thrust his lightning claw forward. Ira’nmalligus dodged to the side at the last moment, the claw missed his head, but it sunk into his left shoulder. The Bloodreaper acted quick, this next move had to be timed just right. He raised hi Etherblade for an overhead strike. The sergeant, his right claw stuck in the daemon’s body, raised his left claw to block the attack.
But the Etherblade was a unique weapon, the blade itself was still strongly connected to the Warp, occasionally flickering in and out of the Materium. Within practice, a Daemon could control the flickering blade.

As his blade came down, Ira’nmalligus willed it to flicker out of reality. The now transparent blade passed through the sergeant’s arm, and through his face. As it reached his body Ira’nmalligus willed the blade back into the Materium. The Sergeants body was instantly shredded, his internal organs almost liquefied by the force of the blade. The Sergeant’s eyes went wide with shock, he spasmed and vomited blood, which struck Ira’nmalligus in the face. Slowly, the space marine collapsed to the ground.

Ira’nmalligus stayed on his knees, badly hurt. His pack, invigorated by his victory, proceeded to make short work of the demoralized space marines. As the sounds of battle faded around him, Ira’nmalligus closed his eyes, expanding his connection back to the Warp, hoping to draw on its energies and heal himself. It took for what him was an eternity, but it had probably only been a minute or two. His material body healed, Ira’nmalligus opened his eyes and rose to his feet. His brothers were all around him, waiting to see if he healed. Ira’nmalligus went to the dead Sergeant and without hesitation cut off his head. It had been his most difficult battle yet, making his victory all the more satisfying.

The Ultramarines continued to fight bravely against the Legions of Khorne, but as was often the case, they were too few, and the daemons too many. It was another hour of battle before the Ultramarines retreated, having lost over half their men. Ira’nmalligus in all managed to kill six Ultramarines, each one a hard fought kill. For the first time in his existence, the Bloodreaper was exhausted. He looked down at the headless bodies of the enhanced humans, a newfound feeling of respect for them. The sun was beginning to set on the now calm world, the sky started to turn red.

With no more fresh blood to spill, the larger Daemons, the commanding Bloodthrister and the Soul Grinders, began to fade back into the immaterium. The larger Bloodletters, the Bloodcrushers and Heralds of Khorne, also began to fade after a while. Ira’nmalligus’ and the other Bloodletter packs remained, searching with Blood Hounds for survivors to finish off. Ira’nmalligus searched quickly for any humans that were grievously wounded. They were warriors; they had earned a quick death. He came across a normal human that had been nearly torn in half by a Soul Grinder’s iron claw. The human still lived, moaning and crying in a most distracting manner. At once Ira’nmalligus thrust his blade in the human’s skull and ended his pain. These humans, especially the Ultramarines had fought bravely. Ira’nmalligus looked forward to the day when their warp energies reformed in the Warp to serve Khorne, as was the fate of all true warriors.

The excited howling and snarling of the Blood Hounds caught Ira’nmalligus’ attention. He followed the sounds to one of the few intact buildings, a small ammunition warehouse. The blood hounds howled and yelped at entrance, which glowed blue with the energies of a particle shield. Ira’nmalligus and his pack went to investigate, followed by all the other packs that remained.

Inside the small warehouse were a few Imperial Guard, no more than a dozen, their guns nervously trained on the daemons that surrounded them. Behind the guard were at least a hundred civilians, mostly women and children. They were dressed in fine clothes, or at least that had been fine, now they were torn and splattered with blood and mud. Ira’nmaligus suspected they were the nobility of the planet, having come here when they were unable to evacuate. The other Bloodletter packs began to roar at the humans, striking at the particle shield with their Hellblades. With each strike the shield flickered and sizzled, but held. The civilians screamed with each attack, children cried and clutched their parents. Lovers and couples held each other tighter.

Ira’nmalligus remembered the day of his ascension to Bloodreaper, the civilians in the bunker, the little human girl. He and his pack would gratefully slaughter the soldiers within the shield, but they would not harm the civilians, they were unworthy. The other packs, however…

Ira’nmalligus called for a gathering of the other pack’s Bloodreapers to discuss what to do. They stood in a circle in front of the shield, discussing what to do in their daemonic speech.
“Our Etherblades will pass through their cowardly defense,” said one Bloodreaper. “Let us kill them ourselves!”

“The shield flickers with each sword strike, let us simply order our brothers to continue the assault, it cannot last forever,” suggested another.

Ira’nmalligus decided it was time to voice his opinion. “I alone here killed the most of the enhanced soldiers of the Anathema. My words have more weight than any of yours, for it is clear that Khorne favors me!” The other Bloodreapers snarled and growled at this prideful boast, but none contradicted him. Not especially when he had the skulls of the space marines he had killed strapped to his shoulders and chest. “These poor creatures are what morals call “civilians.” They cannot fight, they cannot give us a challenge. I myself will never cover my blade in weak blood.” Ira’nmalligus observed the other Bloodreapers, their faces a mix of surprise and fascination. “My brothers, fellow servants of Khorne. Let us simply depart. These cretins are unworthy of our wrath. All the worthy blood on this planet has been spilled, all the worthy skulls have been collected. There is nothing more for us here.”

One Bloodreaper began to laugh. “You are a strange one Ira’nmalligus. Khorne cares not from whom the blood flows--.”

“I am well aware of what others say is Khorne’s will, brother. But answer me this: did the Skulltaker earn his title and fame by taking the skulls of children and weaklings? Did the Kinslayer? No! They earned their titles and glory by killing only the greatest of foes, the ones that provided the greatest challenges. Anything else was beneath them!”

The other Bloodreapers considered his words, but many were not convinced. They still desired blood, it was in their nature. Will no Herald of Khorne or Bloodthirster present, the Bloodreapers were all of equal rank. Thus the only way this debate could be decided was by combat. But Ira’nmalligus and others knew this too was wasteful, thus did they do something that was very rare indeed for a Daemon of Khorne: they compromised.

“Servants of the Anathema,” Ira’nmalligus said to the terrified mortals, his voice sounding to them like the roar of a lion. “Here is your choice: The warriors that remain within the shield, you will deactivate it and allow your blood to be spilled in the name of the Lord of Brass. Do this, and on my honor, I swear that all others will be spared. Do it not, and you will all die here, now.” Ira’nmalligus stepped back and rejoined his pack. The humans argued amongst themselves for the better part of an hour.

At last the human warriors began to gather around the front of the shield. One civilian, a young woman, cried out and rushed forward and embraced one of the soldiers, who kissed her but then forced her back towards the other civilians. Ira’nmalligus watched this with great bewilderment. Whatever this display of emotion he was witnessing was, he was certain that he would never understand it. The shield flickered and began to fade, the human warriors stepped forward. Ira’nmalligus, satisfied, began to step forward, never noticing the smiles on his fellow Bloodreapers.

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” The other Bloodreapers all cried this in unison as they led their packs in a charge. They ran towards the soldiers, who closed their eyes and winced. Every single Bloodletter, including Ira’nmalligus’ own pack, rushed forwards. They ran past the terrified soldiers, and straight towards the civilians, who screamed in unison.

“No!” Ira’nmalligus ran forward to stop the Bloodletters, but it was too late.

The slaughter was done in less than a minute. The soldiers and civilians had been completely torn apart, their remains feasted on by the blood hounds. Ira’nmlligus had tried to stop the slaughter, but to no avail. Like sharks, once Bloodletters got into a killing frenzy, it was all but impossible to stop them. Ira’nmalligus stared at the red pile of limbs, torsos, and organs that had once been the civilians. He found himself unable to think clearly, there was a buzzing in his head. His entire body shook, his Etherblade trembled in his hand. Slowly, with a false calmness, he made his way towards the other Bloodreapers, who were taking the skulls of the soldiers.

“You…we…had…agreed,” Ira’nmalligus said in a clam, quivering voice.

“We agreed,” one Bloodreaper said. “That you are a fool. Slaughter is all we live for. To deny it to us is an insult to Khorne. You would be wise to learn your place, Ira’nmalligus. You are a good fighter, and it would be a shame to lose you.” The Bloodreaper turned away, but Ira’nmalligus grabbed his wrist with all his strength.

“I swore to them, on my honor,” the rage within Ira’nmalligus began to build. “ON MY HONOR!”

He cut of the head of the Bloodreaper with a single swipe of his blade. His body staggered around for a moment before it and his head vanished back into the Warp. The other Bloodreapers’ heads snapped up just in time to see Ira’nmalligus leap towards them, blade held high, a roar of pure fury escaping from his throat. They were caught completely by surprise.

Ira’nmalligus killed every other Bloodreaper present. The other Bloodletters looked at him in complete bafflement. Ira’nmalligus turned to his so-called brothers and pointed his sword at them.

“Anyone else? Anyone else wish to defy my will!? I am Ira’nmalligus, I am (he spoke his True Name)! All who defy me, all who break their oath to me, who dishonor me, will die! I am mightier than all of you. I will kill every last one of you! So attack! Attack me, or obey my will! Those are your only options!”

Ira’nmalligus was so consumed by his rage he did not noticed that his voice grew slightly deeper, his Etherblade grew slightly smaller in his hand. He did not notice, but the other Bloodletters did. He was not quite the size of a Herald, but he was getting there, the other Daemons all saw it. Slowly, one by one, every Bloodletter bowed.

“We are done on this world, we shall return to the Warp, now!” No Bloodletter objected. They quickly rose and began to depart to the Immaterium. One by one, until Ira’nmalligus was the daemon left on the world, and the last living thing left on the world.

Or so he thought.

The Bloodreaper sniffed the air once last time, catching the scent. He turned back towards the pile of dead Civilians, which now quivered slightly. The young woman who had embraced the soldier slowly began to crawl out of the pile. Somehow she had survived the frenzy, hiding among the bodies of the others. She looked as if she had bathed in blood, in a twisted way, she had. Ira’nmalligus approached her, blade down at his side. The woman saw him. As before, with the young girl all those years ago, there was that look of hatred. She had a laspistol in her hands she had taken from a soldier’s corpse. It was a tiny, pathetic little flashlight of a weapon. It shook in her hands as she aimed it at the Bloodreaper and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing. The pistol was jammed, too much blood had gotten inside of it.

“I swore on my honor to spare you all,” Ira’nmalligus began. “But my brothers betrayed me. They have paid for this cowardice.” The woman still starred up at him, a confused look now on her face. Ira’nmalligus turned away, and before disappearing back into the Warp, spoke words that were difficult for his Daemon mind to fully comprehend.

“I, I am…sorry…”

Wait what! Daemons Of Khorne with emotions? Well now you got my intrest! More please, the skull lord wills it!

A daemon with personality? Not a 2 dimensional villain...by the gods.....

Subbed. This is really good.

Both parts are amazing but the last sentence....this is getting beyond amazing. I DEMAND MORE!

i do say i like this. It is very entertaining.

Part III: Fate

Blood! Blood! BLOOD!

Arterious lost himself in the frenzy. Soldiers, civilians, men, woman, children, he slaughtered them all. The old, the young, the strong, the weak, those that could fight and those that could not, it did not matter to him the difference. Blood was blood, spilling it was all he craved, all he desired. Being of mortal origin, Arterious could remain in the Materium as long as he wished, doing his Master’s work. Once again it was he who had allowed this glorious slaughter to take place. He had lain in wait, disguising his daemonic body as that of the planetary governor. Trickery and deceit had always been his specialty, and it had been easy, so easy, to lead the humans to slaughter each other. A food shortage here, an economic crisis there, he had but to touch the strings and then just sit back and watch as his puppets danced for him.

It has started so innocently, mass riots by the desperate, hungry masses. Arterious had order the riots quelled “by any means,” so then the slaughter had begun. The citizens of the world had been oppressed for so long, they had finally snapped. What had begun as riots turned into full-blown civil war, neither side relenting, slaughtering each other with pure fury. When enough blood had been spilled, when there was enough rage on the planet, Arterious began to open the portal. As before, he gathered around him a fanatical caste of Imperial Guard, those he had screened himself, searching for the sociopathic tendencies, the yearn to only kill and kill again. Shedding his disguise, he led them to the largest mass of humans he could find, a large hospital being used to house refuges.

There a great slaughter began. The screams echoed through the night, drowned out by the sounds of war outside. When it was done, Arterious collected the slain humans’ blood and poured it into a pool in the largest section of the hospital, a hall great enough to hold and entire army. Then he ordered his warriors into it, where he decapitated them all with a swing of his axe. It was done, the requirements were fulfilled. The blood began to bubble and boil, an unholy glow began to emanate from it. There was a loud boom as the fabric of reality was torn, and a portal to the Warp was formed.

“My Brothers, it is done! Come, come forth and spill all blood in the name of Khorne!” Arterious threw back his horned head and let out a shrieking laugh. They began to pour out like a great deluge. Bloodletters, Flesh Hounds, Bloodcrushers, an entire host seeped out ever slowly from the tear in reality. Soon the hospital was bursting with the Servants of Khorne.

“Now go forth my legion, I command you! There is plenty of blood for all. Spread forth and fulfill Khorne’s will. Spare none, for all are our prey!” With that Arterious lifted his great axe and slammed it down upon the floor, again and again. He had known all along of the emergency shelter, where some of the hospital staff, the pitiful cowards that they were, had managed to escape upon his arrival. He torn a massive hole in the ground, where he pointed with a large finger at the whimpering mortals.

“Begin there my brothers! My gift to you all! Spill their blood in the name of Khorne!”

The Daemons leapt into the pit, there were screams, which were abruptly cut off. One Bloodreaper however, looked at the pit and snorted in disgust. When his Bloodletter pack advanced towards the pit, he growled a command and they halted.

“Well, wait are you all waiting for!?” Arterious felt the rage beginning to boiling within him.

The Bloodreaper, his head bowed in respect, stepped forward. “We appreciate this offering of blood, oh Exalted One. But I believe I speak for all of my pack when I say that we would prefer…worthy kills.”

“…What?” Arterious’ voice was calm and low, which somehow made it more terrifying than if he had yelled.

“One of the Bloodreapers, Ira’nmalligus he has decreed that he will personally slay all who spill unworthy blood. Muro’ntoragth has decreed that all who disagree with him must challenge him. So far all who have challenged him have been bested. Others who follow his creed: who only slay the strong and worthy, have also grown stronger.”

“Ira’malligus!? That little filth still lives!?” Arterious roared and grabbed the Bloodreaper’s skull in his hand, crushing it almost instantly. “Kill those cowards, now!” Still, none in the pack moved forward, they instead looked anxiously outside, at the battle that went on. “NOW!” Arterious roared with such force every window in the hospital was shattered. Still none of the pack moved.

“COWARDS! TRAITORS!” Arterious spread his wings and charged forward, beginning to slay every daemon in his path. The Daemons roared and attacked back, but their powers were nothing against a Daemon Prince, a Scion of Khorne. In his fury, Arterious slammed a Bloodcrusher through the wall of the hospital, exposing the rest of the planet to the daemonic horde. Seeing the battle outside, the carnage, the fresh blood, sent Arterious and the rest of the Daemon’s into a frenzy. They began to pour out of the hospital, the human soldiers fighting each other not noticing them until it was far too late.

From there, it was chaos. Pure, beautiful chaos.

Arterious slew all in his path. Human, Daemon, it mattered not. He killed every living thing he saw. He saw a human engaged in single combat with a Bloodletter. He picked both of them up and bit off both of their heads at once, swallowing them and tossing the bodies aside. For two days and nights the chaos continued, Daemons killing humans, humans killing Daemons, and Arterious the Mad (as he would then be known forever afterwards) killing both. The slaughter brought more and more Daemonic forces out from the portal, until at last, on the third day, the entire world was consumed by the Daemons of Khorne. Soon all humans were dead, but still Arterious did not relent. He killed every Daemon he came across, until at last after eight days he was alone, every other Daemon either dead or having returned back to the Warp.

But still Arterious’ rage knew no rest, no respite. He began to destroy buildings, vehicles, statues, anything he could find. He had sacrificed everything to serve Khorne, his life, his soul, his humanity. And still the Daemons did not completely obey him, still he was treated like a pariah!

“IRA’NMALLIGUS!” Arterious roared at the night sky. It was all that Daemon’s fault, he had humiliated him in front of Muro’ntoragth. Now none took him seriously, none gave him the respect he had earned! In his rage, Ira’nmalligus had not noticed that a second warp portal had been opened by the last surviving humans before they were slaughtered. They had been Chaos cultists, working to summon a Greater Daemon.

But not one of Khorne.

“You poor, poor thing,” cooed a soft, feminine voice. A voice that at once quelled Arterious’ rage, that made parts of him, those old yearnings and desires from his humanity, stir and grow.

“Who is that!? Show yourself!” Arterious’ rage was quick to return. He needed more blood! More blood!

“Look at you, look at what you have become my poor child. You sacrificed everything in the service of the Blood God. Again and again you prove your loyalty to him in combat. And for what? To be neglected by your kin? To be cast aside and ignored for your Mortal origins? All that self-sacrifice and this if the tanks you receive…”

“I said show yourself witch!” Arterious spun this way and that, looking for the source of the voice, but it seemed to come from all directions. Then a new smell entered Arterious’ nostrils, a sweet honey stench that set his nostrils ablaze and overwhelmed his other senses. For the first time since his ascension to Daemonhood, his loins were stirred.

“Witch? Yes, I supposed you could say I am that. But then, I am many things.” She had been behind Arterious the entire time, moving with perfect grace to stay behind him every time his spun around. She finally stepped out to look at Arterious face to face, who was still enraptured by his musk. She was his height, but far slimmer, with four arms, the bottom two ending in hideous, sharp claws. Her legs were strong but graceful, as was the rest of her body. And her face, her face! To Arterious she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, her large black eyes like infinite pools of ink.

“What…are you?”

The Keeper of Secrets Sca’lrati’ia, Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, smiled what to Arterious was a beautiful smile. “I am whatever you want me to be,” she cooed. At this her face and body began to change. Her gorgeous face turned into the head of bull, then into a grotesque horned abomination with no eyes, and a massive mouth full of teeth. The three pairs of breasts on her body flatted and changed, her torso becoming like that of a man. Then on her left side the breasts returned, so that was as a hermaphrodite.

A mortal would have pledged his soul to her right then and there. But Arterious was no longer Mortal. Slowly he began to break free of her charm. With his left hand he grabbed her by the left and lifted her up. He roared as he swung the axe in his right hand right into her side, causing warm blood to splash on his face. The Keeper of Secrets screamed. Not in pleasure, but pure ecstasy.

“Oh, you naughty thing, you’ve gutted me!” She waged her finger at him in a “Tsk, tsk” manner. “It feels so wonderful!” Then she attacked. In an instant she tore off his armor with her two normal hands, and with began stabbing his chest, again and again, with her massive claws. Arterious roared in pain and flung her away. Like a cat Sca’lrati’ia righted herself and landed on her feet. Arterious charged her, screaming incoherent curses and insults. Again and again he swung his ax at her form, with such force a gust of wind was thrown up every time. And again and again the foul temptress dodged each strike effortlessly with the skill and grace of a dancer.

This dance went on for nearly an entire day before at last Arterious began to tire. He swings became slower and slower, his breath came in snorting, ragged gasps. Sca’lrati’ia decided she’d had her fun. In one magnificent motion she tore Arterious’ ax from his hands with her claws while at the same time kicked his legs out from under him. Arterious fell on his back with a wheeze. Sca’lrati’ia sat right on his chest, laughing. She produced from her body large spikes, which she drove into the Daemon Prince’s arms, legs, and wings, pinning him to the earth.

“It was such a beautiful dance, thank you,” she mocked. Slowly, she began to run a claw down his chest, slicing open his skin.

Artious snarled. “I’ll kill you!”

“Perhaps, but not today. Fear not, little human, I am not going to banish you to the Warp! No doubt the Lord of Brass would rip apart your body for your utter failure against me. No, I have a message for you.” Arterious roared and tried to stand, but the spikes in his body held him down. “You see I managed to get an audience with the Oracle. You know the Oracle of course? Tzeentch’s two-headed bird. I asked him of futures events, you know, this and that, it doesn’t matter. Unfortunately that insane Daemon did not see my future at all.” The Keeper of Secrets leaned close to Arterious is ear. “He saw yours.”

Arterious’ body relaxed. The rage disappeared, and curiosity and fear replaced it.
“You see, the Oracle’s two heads say different things. One says only lies, the other only truth. One head said that a Scion of Khorne name Arterious would become to greatest Servant of Khorne, and would be at his right hand for all eternity.”

Arterious frowned. “And the other head?”

Sca’lrati’ia smiled. “The other said that Arterious the Daemon Prince would meet his true death at the hands of a fellow servant of Khorne. He said, and I’m quoting here, ‘I see two beings, both servants of Khorne, both at war over what he is. One Arterious, is Khorne as the Madman; an insane butcher who cares only for slaughter. The other, is Khorne as the Knight; a proud warrior who knows compassion in his heart, who seeks to kill only the strong, and who will never harm the weak and helpless, for they are beneath him. Neither can tolerate the other, and in his insanity, I see the Madman fall low before the Knight. I see the Daemon Prince Arterious utterly destroyed, his soul ceasing to exist!”

Arterious considered the words for a long time. He already knew who the Oracle referred to. Who else would it be? The Keeper of Secrets laughed and got up off his chest, she began to fade back into the warp, her body turning transparent.

“Why did you tell me this?”

The Keeper of Secrets frowned. “You poor fools of Khorne, you know so little about the nature of my Master. There is more to his domain than physical pleasure. Often, it is the intangible pleasures that are the most satisfying.” The Keeper of Secrets smirked. “And what can be more pleasurable than watching the despair of one who knows his fate in advance?”

The Daemon of Slaanesh disappeared from physical reality. The spikes that held Arterious to the ground vanished with her. Arterious rose, his wounds already healing. Ira’nmalligus, he thought. I will not let the Oracle’s vision of doom come to pass. I will destroy you, I will ascend to the right hand of Khorne, where I belong! But to do that, the Daemon Prince knew he needed the one thing that could forever destroy his foe.

He needed to know his True Name.

Part IV: Trials


The Stablemaster looked up at Ira’nmalligus and laughed. “This is your third attempt Bloodreaper. Your wounds have still not healed from your last encounter, are you sure you wish to--.”

“Yes!” Ira’nmalligus shoved the Stablemaster out of the way as he marched towards the snarling metal beasts in front of him, doing everything he could to hide his limp.

In the few years since his slaughter of his fellow Bloodreapers, Ira’nmalligus had still not ascended past the rank of Bloodreaper, despite the fact that every time he had killed one who challenged his policy of sparing the weak, he had grown ever larger, to the point where he was almost the size of a herald, and dwarfed his fellow Bloodreapers.

The answer was simple; he had not managed to tame a Juggernaut, the semi-mechanical steeds of Khorne, and become a Bloodcrusher. Most Bloodletters who reached the rank of Bloodreaper remained there, either because they lacked the cunning or the drive to ascend further. Those that wished to ascend, like Ira’nmalligus, had to first tame a Juggernaut, become a Bloodcrusher, and then (if they hadn’t done so already) take eight hundred and eighty-eight skulls of enemies. Then, only then, could they seek an audience with the Blood God himself and demand the title of Herald of Khorne.

Ira’nmalligus had long ago taken his 888th skull, the last had been a Space Marine Captain, whom he had engaged in single combat for eight hours straight before finally disarming him (literally) and taking his skull. At this point, any descent about his code of honor was silenced, few except the very stupid challenged him. Whenever he was present in battle, those around him were cautious not to slaughter the unworthy, at least as long as he was present. The Bloodthirsters and Heralds had never condemned him for his ethics, and when asked again and again to intervene by furious Bloodreapers, they had simply laughed, calling him “a strange one indeed.”

But all this would soon changed if Ira’malligus did not tame a Juggernaut. Already there were whispers, even within his own devoted pack, that he was losing favor with Khorne. Ira’nmalligus himself was also starting to believe it…

The Juggernauts snorted at stomped their brass hooves at his arrival. A few of them rammed their pen doors. The heavy metal gates creaked and heaved with their blows, but held. The Juggernaut Enclosure was one of the largest structures besides the fortress of Khorne, usually. Like all things in the Warp, its size was in constant flux, and in part depended on the perspective of whoever was inside it. To Ira’nmalligus, the enclosure was immense, so wide he could not see the other side of it. There were more Juggernauts than could be sanely counted, each one snorting and roaring at the Bloodreaper. Ira’nmalligus walked by and looked from one to the other, his pride demanded that he only attempted to tame the largest and most dangerous of them.

At last he came to the one, the one he had attempted to tame three times now. It had a broken horn, and one of its mechanical eyes was damaged. But its fury was unmatched. Inside the pen, the other Juggernauts gave heard a wide berth, it had already been subdued several times by the Stablemaster due to getting in fights with the other Juggernauts and tearing them apart.

“You will be mine,” Ira’nmalligus declared.

The first time the Bloodreaper had attempted to tame the Juggernaut by leaping on its back at once. The creature had flung him off, and then gored him with its horn. Ira’nmalligus had sliced it off and just barely escaped the pen. The most recent encounter had left the Bloodreaper with his left leg tramped by the metal monster’s hooves. It was only just now beginning to mend.

Ira’nmalligus ritually shed off his brass armor, planted his Etherblade into the ground, then roared and leapt into the pit. The other Juggernauts snorted in alarm, backing off, all except the one with the broken horn. Its brass body glinted in the red light as it turned to face Ira’nmalligus. The Bloodreaper began to walk towards it, slowly at first, before breaking into a sprint. The Juggernaut bellowed, a horrible metallic sound, before it also began to charge. The ground shook with each step of its hooves with such severity that Ira’nmalligus almost tripped. The Juggernaut was only two meters away, it lowered its head, ready to ram the foolish Bloodreaper and send him flying out of the pen.

At the last moment, Ira’nmalligus leapt to the side. Grabbing the Juggernauts broken horn, he used his momentum to swing around, landing on the creature’s back. The Juggernaut at once began to buck and leap, bellowing all the while. The other Juggernauts snorted and stamped at the spectacle. Holding out one hand for balance, Ira’nmalligus held on as tight as he could. For a whole minute the Bloodreaper stayed on the creature’s back, despite its best efforts to shake him off. At last, the Daemon thought, my ascension is secured. But the followers of Khorne have a saying; “The fight is not over until your enemy is dead.” The closest mortal equivalent meaning would be “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

In one motion, the Juggernaut lept up into the air, several meters off the ground. Ira’nmalligus gripped the beast even tighter. But then, the creature began to tilt its body, more and more, until Ira’nmalligus realized he was up-side down. In a grim moment the Daemon realized what was happening, the creature was going to land on its back, crushing him. Ira’nmalligus released his hold from the Juggernaut and crashed to the ground, rolling away as fast as he could. There was a large metal crash as the Juggernaut landed on its back, missing Ira’nmalligus by centimeters. The Bloodreaper jumped to his feet, but the metal monster had already recovered. The Juggernaut turned its massive head to one side and swung it, hitting Ira’nmalligus right in the chest. The Daemon screamed in pain as he was flung into the air, out of the pen.

Ira’nmalligus landed on his face, skidding forward a meter of so before coming to a stop. One of his horns was broken, his chest burned with pain. Weakly he opened his eyes and got up, turning back to face his brass foe, which stamped its hooves and snorted in a way that sounded almost like laughter.

“Curse you,” the Daemon whispered.

“Having trouble?” said a voice behind him. Ira’nmalligus turned to find himself face to face with a Herald of Khorne. It was Are’ethallusiscis, the current Keeper of the Grimore of True Names. Ira’nmalligus remembered him well, when he had spoken his True Name and ascended him to the rank of Bloodreaper.

“What is it, hallowed one? What am I doing wrong?”

Are’ethallusiscis laughed. “Nothing oh Proud One! You are doing exactly what is needed to tame most Juggernauts. But then, the broken horned one isn’t most Juggernauts, now is it?”

Ira’nmalligus bowed. “What would you recommend?”

The Herald of Khorne stroked his Greater Etherblade in contemplation, the massive blade longer than Ira’nmalligus was tall. “There is a battle I have for you and your pack. You may find your answers there. The Herald smiled. “Or you may die. I wouldn’t mind. If you did I could finally start killing the weak and unworthy without fearing your blade until you reform.”

* * *

The planet was near the Eye of Terror, the constant Warp Storms occasionally creating warp portals, allowing Ira’nmalligus and his unit to arrive unnoticed. It was a frigid world, the large lake near the small military base was frozen solid. Ira’nmalligus observed it from a hill nearby, his breath visible as steam. Coupled with his daemonic appearance, Ira’nmalligus looked not unlike a mythical dragon, watching the village he was about to set ablaze.

The Imperial Guard regiment had only recently arrived, their base’s defenses not yet completel as they attempted to gain a foothold on the planet, acting as an early warning system for daemonic incursion. Ira’nmalligus was not familiar with these type of Imperial Guard. They hailed from a world called Attila, and were said to be almost as fierce and savage as the Daemons of Khorne.

Almost, thought Ira’nmalligus.

Drawing his Etherblade, he signaled to his pack behind him to prepare to charge. He was about to give the signal when he noticed a commotion coming from outside the base. Telling his pack to hold still, he slowly moved closer to observe.

Three of the Attilan soldiers were attempting to subdue a beast Ira’nmalligus had never seen before. It was taller than a human, with short hair and hooved feet. It snorted and neighed as the Humans attempted to holds its reigns and restrain it. It reared on its hind legs, and when a human attempted to approach it from behind, it would try to kick them with its rear legs. So like a Juggernaut, thought Ira’nmalligus. Do the humans ride these creatures? From the base another human emerged, a power sword at his waist, his fur coat flapping in the wind.

“What’s the matter, why don’t you return her to the stables?”

“Lieutenant, Sir,” one of the weary soldiers said. “She’s too wild! She has broken out of her stables twice already. I don’t think she can be broken.”

The Lieutenant stroked his long black beard and considered these words. “The mare cannot be broken, like some men, don’t you think? Very well, if she cannot be tamed by force, than perhaps…” he trailed off, taking off his survival pack and reaching into it, producing an apple. “Stand back,” he ordered.

The other soldiers ceased attempting to subdue the horse and stepped away. The Lieutenant slowly approached it, arms calmly at his side. The horse neighed and backed off, stamping her feet and snorting. Slowly the lieutenant held out the apple towards the horse. The horse neighed again, but stopped moving back. It looked at the apple, then to the Lieutenant.

One careful step at a time, it began to move towards the Lieutenant. The horse sniffed the apple, never taking its eyes off the Lieutenant. Then finally, it began to eat it from his hand. With his other hand the Lieutenant stroke the horse’s neck. The other soldiers looked at him in awe.

“You see men?” The lieutenant said. “A horse that cannot be tamed by force can sometimes be befriended with food instead.” He took the horse’s reigns, and gently tugged on it. The hoses resisted for only a moment before following him back into the base.

Ira’nmalligus watched this event with amazement. Could this be the answer? But how, Juggernauts did not need to eat, though like all Servants of Khorne they enjoyed drinking blood and tearing flesh. Maybe, thought Ira’nmalligus. Maybe. Regardless he had seen enough. The Bloodreaper raised his Etherblade and roared.

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THONE!”

* * *

The Attilians fought bravely and fiercely, never once attempting to abandon their base. As Ira’nmalligus suspected, they rode their beasts, their horse into battle, plowing into the Bloodletter pack. But the Daemons pressed on, slaughtering all in their path. The horses were fast, but not well armored. And once dismounted, the Attilians were easy prey despite their courage. Soon the base had been taken, what little humans remained having barricaded themselves in the armory, where Ira’nmalligus knew he could not get them out, at least not without losing most of his pack. It mattered not, enough blood had been spilled, and Ira’nmalligus now had valuable information.

He ordered his pack to collect the skulls and then return to the Warp portal. Ira’nmalligus cautiously approached the open doors of the large armory, the entranced barricaded save for one small opening deliberately left. Quickly Ira’nmallius stuck his head inside the opening for a peak, just barely dodging the Plasma bolt that flew past him, burning a chunk of the wall behind him. He had managed to see eighteen humans and four horses inside, the humans all armed with either plasmaguns or Meltaguns, with one manning an assault cannon turret.

That one was the Lieutenant.

“You, ‘Lieutenant,’” Ira’nmalligus said. “you were the one who tamed the horse?”

No response came.

“I thank you. If we meet again, I swear on my honor your death shall be quick and painless.”

* * *

“Back so soo--" The Stablemaster could not finish his sentence before Ira’nmalligus punched him in the face, knocking him out cold. This time the Bloodreaper carried a small pouch on his waist, its contents leaking blood on the floor. He walked at a brisk pace into the Juggernaut pens. This time, the room seemed smaller to him, the opposite wall clearly visible. He came upon the Juggernaut with the broken horn, who greeted him with the usual snorting and stamping.

“This time I will be victorious, or I will die,” Ira’nmalligus declared. He leapt into the pen, mere meters from the Juggernaut. The Juggernaut bellowed and prepared to charge. Ira’nmalligus readied himself, hoping this worked. Otherwise he would be the laughing stock of all Daemons of Khorne. Ira’nmalligus slowly opened the pouched and took out its contents. It was a large chunk of horse flesh, still fresh and dripping great quantities of blood. The Juggernaut snorted and stamped its hooves but did not charge. It looked at the horsemeat, then at Ira’nmalligus.

“It is all right,” the Bloodreaper calmly said. “We are the same, you and I. We are both too proud to be broken, to be conquered. So I come to you not as your master, but as a comrade. No, as a partner. Let me ride you into battle, and together, we shall be invincible!” The great metal creature bellowed and stamped its feet but still did not charge.

Slowly, carefully, the Juggernaut walked towards Ira’nmalligus.

The Bloodreaper held his breath as the Juggernaut sniffed the meat in his hand. The brass steed opened his mouth and gulped down the meat in one bite, nearly taking Ira’nmalligus’ hand with it. The Juggernaut then looked straight at Ira’nmalligus with its one good eye, which glowed a dull red. The other Juggernauts bellowed at them but kept their distance. The Juggernaut with the broken horn, lowered its head, and stayed still. In one swift motion Ira’nmalligus leapt upon its back. The Juggernaut bellowed but did not attempt to shake him off. Holding it secure, Ira’nmalligus softly kicked the Juggernaut in its side.

The Juggernaut began to move forward.

“I have done it!” Ira’nmalligus made the Juggernaut rear on its hind legs. Together, steed and rider, they roared in unison, their sounds echoing throughout the entire stable. “Hence force, my proud steed, you shall be known as Bu’clel’arus! And we shall never be apart!” With that, Ira’nmalligus commanded the Juggernaut to leap out of the pen, and they rode out of the stables, into the Fortress of Khorne and, Ira’nmalligus was certain, to glory.

really love the fluff going on here. I like how it goes against what you expect to see, the deamon uses care, learns from mortals and even thanks them. It is a very good background story.

Well now! This sates my need for both battle and JUgger care lessons. Well done as always