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Chapter One: The Gulch

Colonel Davion Maxis preferred not to go into battle himself. Though it caused him great guilt, by earning the rank of Colonel he had earned the privilege of sitting in a comfy chair while hundreds of men hurled themselves to their deaths and he was going to use it. Through six viewscreens, one camera mounted on each vehicle, he watched the battle. The entire 1st Company had gone to war and, as the Regiment Commander, the battle was just as much his responsibility as the Captain of the Company's. Soldiers were slogging through mud and corpses, trying to make their way through the gulch. A hastily constructed dam kept most of the water out but small rivulets were still breaking through. Davion realized he couldn't see the Captain and grabbed a hand held radio. After flicking a switch and making sure he was on the right frequency he asked, "Captain Tion, where are you?" There was only static. Fearing the worst, he repeated the question. "Captain Tion, where are you?"

He heard a clicking noise and realized it was the Captain's Comm. unit activating. "Leading the charge Colonel!" he yelled, trying to speak over the static, gunshots and screams.

"Good," Davion replied. "I couldn't see you on the cameras."

"Well of course you can't see me from those half broken pieces of-" Tion was briefly cut off by static. "Why don't you come out here and see the battle yourself?" He could practically hear the man's smile.

"Very funny, Captain. You know, questioning your superiors is grounds for execution in some Regiments. You should be thankful that I'm so forgiving."

Over the radio the Colonel heard a sudden screech and a strange "whooshing" noise. The gunfire increased and he heard someone yell, "My eyes!" Another voice was crying out, "They're invincible!" "Can't talk now!" shouted Tion. There was a short clicking noise and the static resumed. The Colonel immediately leaned forward to one of the view screens, this camera mounted on a large Chimera. It plowed forward as fast as it could through the muck, shrugging off lasgun, stub pistol and bolter fire. Its multilaser had been destroyed and the Heavy Bolter was completely exhausted of ammunition, but the vehicle itself was still functional. Inside were ten Guardsmen, no doubt completely terrified. As the vehicle went farther ahead and passing a large cluster of fortifications, Davion saw the approaching enemy; Thousand Sons. The initial wave of Chaos Cultists had been dispersed and now the true foe had arrived.

The Traitor Legionnaires seemed to shrug off every shot. What their ancient armor couldn't block was deflected by arcane force fields. They were relentless, slowly advancing towards the Guardsmen and continuously firing. At the head of each squad was a Chaos Sorcerer dressed in archaic armor and oddly elegant robes. Their psychic abilities hurt the Guardsmen just as much as the bolter fire. A lightning bolt surged toward the Chimera and the viewscreen went black. Turning to another camera mounted on a Basilisk he saw Lord Commissar Faustinus barking orders. Guardsmen were attempting to flee in all directions but his glowing plasma pistol stopped more of them. The Basilisk fired its Earthshaker Cannon with a triumphant boom. In the midst of the Legionnaires there was a massive explosion. The raw force sent grit, dust and stones flying in every direction yet only two of the Marines had actually been destroyed by the blast.

Thousand Sons, and most Traitor Legionnaires altogether, were a difficult foe. The Greenskins would always go for the largest, most dangerous looking battle and could be easily manipulated. On one instance Davion had tricked them into entering a large canyon where they were shelled to death. Meanwhile the Eldar were calculating and manipulative foes, but they could hardly stand large losses. Simply recklessly attacking them and sacrificing thousands of Guardsmen to kill hundreds of their own was enough to make them retreat. Tyranids were the opposite; throwing lives carelessly at them would fuel their rampage as biomatter from corpses of both sides was used to create more beasts. It was best to take a defensive stance and making sure to scorch all animals, plants and corpses. Eventually the creatures would starve and look for another planet with less resistant prey (hopefully). However, the Thousand Sons were different. Originally Davion had thought to simply exhaust them the same way as the Eldar but upon seeing their hoards of slaves and Cultists he thought better. The only solution was to outmaneuver them, something that the Colonel reluctantly admitted he was not talented at.

The battle continued to rage. Droves of corpses littered the battlefield, a form of makeshift cover for the Guardsmen. Some were still trying to retreat and Faustinus was still trying to execute them. A Sorcerer in Terminator Armor was walking through the ranks of Thousand Sons into the forefront of the battle. He gestured towards a squad of Storm Troopers hiding behind a wrecked Chimera and chanted something intelligible. The air began seemingly writhe and distort with threads of blue and yellow swirling through it. A Storm Trooper exploded within his armor, drenching the grey carapace armor in blood. Another one of the elite Guardsmen died, his flesh splitting and vermin crawling out. The Sergeant, armed with a plasma pistol, leapt up and attempted to fire at the Sorcerer. Before he could even pull the trigger he melted, turning into a thick sloshing liquid.

All gunfire concentrated on the Sorcerer, but a group of Marines moved around him to act as a living shield. The Thousand Sons were indeed resistant, but when an entire Company (or rather the remnants of it) focused fire on them they didn't last long. One by one they fell, their magic armor finally splintering and letting the dust inside pour out. While the Marines bought the Sorcerer precious time, he was chanting again and making strange hand gestures. The dam began to stranglely glow and the cracks grew and spread. More and more water was pouring out. It was no longer just a few rivulets. A few Guardsmen were knocked over and slipped, but must remained standing in the now shin deep water.

"Captain Tion, where are you?" asked Davion, realizing what was going to happen.

"Still at the front of the battle," Tion immediately replied. "Hiding behind cover now though. They're too endurable; we didn't bring enough heavy weapons. We were only prepared for the Cultists."

"Have your men fall back now," ordered the Colonel. "Everyone that's left is ordered to flee the battlefield, now."

"What?"

The cracks were widening and more water was pouring in. As the Sorcerer continued his chant, the dam began to shake and rumble. Beyond it lay over five billion liters of water about to flood out. "Can't you see it? The dam is going to break! Fall back!" he yelled.

"It's only a little bit of water-"

"Fall back you idiot or I'll have you executed for treason!"

"Yes, sir!"

The cameras rotated as the vehicles changed directions. Guardsmen were sprinting as fast as they could, thanking the Emperor that they were allowed to retreat. From the corner of a screen he saw Lord Commissar Faustinus, still firing on the Thousand Sons and refusing to retreat. The Colonel was going to switch to the Commissar's frequency and repeat the order to retreat, but remembered how much he hated him. If Faustinus chose to stay behind and die, so be it. That was when the dam broke. A massive wave of water crashed over the battlefield, surging towards everything in sight. Through some dark miracle the Sorcerer caused to the water to flow around them, targeting only the Guardsmen. Seemingly sentient waves slammed into their ranks, dragging the Imperials to watery graves.

So this is the first part of a new story. I'm taking a break from Downfall due to severe Writer's Block (probably mentioned that before in the Downfall thread) and am writing this. I don't expect any comments because this is just the first entry and its main purpose is to set stuff up, but if I do get any comments they are extremely appreciated!

Davion silently waited for what remained of the First Company to arrive. As Davion stood, Major Slyth silently approached. "I take it we lost," she said.

"How observant of you," replied Davion in a tone of voice that suggested otherwise. "We prepared for this possibility however. I knew not to hinge too much of our plan on this battle."

"Yes," acknowledged Slyth. "Is Tion still alive?"

"Barely. The bastard hesitated when I gave him the order to fall back. I'm willing to bet that cost a few dozen lives."

"Is he going to be face discipline?"

The Colonel paused before answering. "No. Ultimately he obeyed."

"Commander, if I may say, things like this are the reason they disobey. You're too friendly with them. Make it clear there are punishments for failure," she suggested. Davion noted how the scars on her face wrinkled up in a strange way when she spoke.

"Like you?" Davion asked. "After executing Sergeant Simmons, having Tenson, Karl and Javis flogged, rationing food supplies and demoting Captain Swithe to a Private they hate you more than any enemy."

"More importantly, they obey me."

Davion smiled and said, "Do you not realize the irony in this? You're questioning my decision to let my men question me."

Slyth cracked a rare grin. "Alright, fine. I'll let you win this time. But you do need to discipline them more."

As the Major left, Davion saw the soldiers arrive from over the hill. His briefly elevated mood immediately dropped. There weren't more than twenty men, all exhausted and injured. Their uniforms were caked with dried mud. Some were soaked in blood, either from themselves or the enemy. One poor Guardsmen's entire upper head was wrapped in gory bandages with a Comrade helping him navigate. A team of Medics immediately rushed out to help the wounded, equipped with only the most makeshift medical supplies. There weren't even painkillers and as a result they used often contaminated confiscated depressants and narcotics. In the midst of the crowd the Colonel noticed a figure wearing a black trench coat. "Lucky Commissar bastard survived," he muttered.

Lord Commissar Faustinus calmly approached. "Greetings," he said.

"Greetings," echoed Davion. He avoided eye contact, staring into the mass of wounded soldiers instead. One Guardsman was loudly howling for painkillers despite having no apparent injuries. "The battle went poorly. I take complete responsibility. I should've been more prepared for more heavily armored opponents."

"Agreed," the Commissar said. "Perhaps we should have someone else plan engagements in the future."

"Are you-"

Faustinus cut him off. "You yourself acknowledged that it was your fault. Perhaps someone with a better track record would be more suitable for your... position. You must understand that this is in the name of the Emperor of course. We are the Hammer of the Emperor and it would be heresy to repeatedly fail to strike a proper blow."

"Only you would have the audacity to suggest to your superior that he finds a suitable replacement. Someday I'll find a reason to execute you."

The Commissar took a step forward. "And someday I'll find a reason to execute you. This isn't the Planetary Defense Force; we don't tolerate failure here." Faustinus stormed off.




The Thousand Sons were a brutally efficient and pragmatic Legion, second only to the Black Legion in terms of sheer organization and discipline. Rubric Marines, as Domitan preferred to call them, and Cultists alike were hard at work erecting tents and building fortifications. Sorcerer Lord Domitan had planned for everything. Magnus the Red had requested an artifact and it was to be taken by the Sorcerer, regardless of the cost. One hundred Astartes and two thousand mortals had been dispatched for the job, commanded personally by the exceptional psyker Domitan. He was a prodigy in the art of Sorcery, having mastered his first spells as a small child on Prospero. In fact, he had always felt an enmity towards Ahriman as a result. Ahriman had always been a step above him and whenever he sought to impress his Primarch the Sorcerer had outdone him. Now, with the renegade out of the picture Domitan knew he had a chance to gain true favor and recognition within his Legion. The Sorcerer Lord grinned simply at the concept.

A Cabal of robed Psykers, mortal weaklings barely worthy of their high standing in the Legion, were hard at work blessing bolter ammunition and creating Inferno Bolts. Whereas standard bolters would have difficulty piercing carapace armor the enchanted inferno bolts could easily shred through it and even pierce power armor as well. "Its a shame we're not fighting Astartes," he muttered. "They'd be truly mortified at something like this." Domitan turned his attention toward a group of Rubric Marines on guard. They were tireless and relentless, empty shells of armor powered completely by the Warp following Ahriman's disastrous spell. Though they were extremely useful, he couldn't help but lament at what had occurred. There was a strange irony to it; what had once been a Legion of scholars had become an army of automatons.

"The Cyclops would be impressed," rasped the Sorcerer Kalgoth. His weak voice was a testament to his injuries; during the 11th Black Crusade he had been lit ablaze by a heavy flamer on Cadia. Though his armor had protected him from the direct flames, it didn't protest him from the sheer heat building up in his armor. He was essentially boiled alive inside and left a crippled shell of an Astartes. It had taken months of surgery and rehabilitation to get Kalgoth back into combat. Any other Legion would've simply let him die, but the Thousand Sons could not afford such losses. "We've collected the diseased, or rather broken. We suppose that half are intact enough to be resurrected. Some have already been prepared and are waiting."

The Thousand Sons could no longer recruit, the Rubric of Ahriman having long such eliminated any possibility. However, the Rubric Marines were no longer sentient organic beings and as such were not as privy to death. The Sorcerer Lord was one of the few able to perform the resurrection without tapping into too much Warp Power and horrifically mutating himself. Approaching seven empty shells or armor, the Sorcerer Lord noted the obvious marks where the armor had been welded and bolted back together. They would need to be repainted. Domitan began to tug at his psychic power, slowly focusing it on the armor and focusing on the dust within. As it began to flow he began the Ritual. "Thousand Sons, those who came from the geneseed of the Cyclops and those who turned to the Changer of Fate." The armor was beginning to glow. "In the eternity that is your service to the Legion, even death is no release." The armor began to stir. Blue light seeped from every crack and joint. The momentum of the psychic energy was causing it to flow too quickly. Forcing himself to not panic, the Sorcerer Lord began to carefully clamp down on it. "No longer alive or dead, a simple shell of what was once an Astartes, for all is dust. Arise Thousand Sons in the name of the Red Cyclops and the Changer of Fate. Arise!"

He launched one final quick burst of psychic energy to jump start the Rubric Marines then cut off the flow. Taking a step back, he watched the Thousand Sons stand. Slowly but surely they began to move their joints, armored whirring as they stood up. Finally all seven were upright. They drew their bolters, loaded them and took up position, each completely identical in position and appearance. "Good," Domitan said. "Go to the barracks and await orders. There will be battle soon."

21 views and no comment so far. Since most Dakka members practice, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" this story probably isn't that great so far. Oh well. I still feel like writing it, so I shall continue.

Chapter Two: Imperial Dogs

Sedex was an Earth sized planet. According to ancient data bases it had been "terraformed" during the Dark Age of Technology and was now a luscious, habitable planet dominated by large forests and jungles. It had once hosted a massive, self sufficient civilian population. When the Thousand Sons had arrived, things had changed. Captain Lambert, Commander of the Agares 17th Second Company, surveyed the wreckage that had once been the Capital City. Titled Haven, the city had been decimated by the Thousand Sons. The sky was choked with ash and the ground littered with debris. Fires raged in the distance, scorching the nearby forests. A group of citizens were being ushered out by Guardsmen and noncombatant Imperials, rather that the Penal Legionnaires that made up the bulk of the company. It was viewed as demotivational for them to interact with loyal civilians.

A sobbing woman, wrapped in blankets turned grey by ash, ran over to the Captain. "Please let me stay! I've lived in that house since I was born! My family has owned that house for generations! Please!" she begged.

"I'm sorry," Lambert said, hating this portion of his job. "We can expect an immediate counterattack from the Thousand Sons for slaves and resources. The city is to be abandoned and whats left of it is to be shelled to the ground. We can't let them gain anything from this."

Her despair immediately turned to rage. "The holofeed was wrong! You aren't heroes! You're..." She stammered, looking for the right words. "Monsters! How can you destroy our cities and still claim you're on our side?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Lambert caught Lord Commissar Cassian approaching. Both of the Commissars in the small Agares 17th, one for each Company, were hated but Cassian was viewed as the worst. Whereas Faustinus was simply paranoid and unpleasant, Cassian was ruthless and violent. His first thought was always of bloodshed. "Please mam, you have to understand-"

"I understand perfectly well!" she shouted. Cassian was walking at a quick pace now. He was reaching for his bolt pistol. Before she could speak again, the Captain interrupted her. "Mam, get back in line!" he ordered. "You can discuss this matter back with one of the Junior Officers at the barracks!"

"No!" she said. "I won't stand by and let you do this!" The Lord Commissar reached her. There was no questioning or trial but rather simple Imperial justice. In a split second the pistol was focused on her head. She had no time to react before Cassian pulled the trigger. The bolt went easily passed through the flesh of her forehead and splintered her skull. As it passed into her brain, the tiny rocket detonated. Her brain exploded within her skull, gore poring out of the tiny entrance wound where the bolt had come in. She went limp and fell to the ground. The marching citizens now stopped to stare at the carnage. "Keep on moving!" Cassian said, pointing his bolt pistol at the crowd. "I have enough ammo to take out each and everyone of you!" They immediately resumed marching, knowing better than to test the patience of a mad Commissar. "Bastards," he muttered. "We ought to execute each and everyone of them."

"In their minds," carefully stated Lambert, trying to make the statement seem as non personal as possible. "You may have proved her right."

The Commissar snarled, "They're idiots. I don't care what they think."

"I suppose so."

I love this story! As for Cassian....

I like it, you don't thousand sons in too many stories.

Wow, thanks for the comments! I have been inspired to keep writing!

Kalgoth walked towards the Cabal while injecting himself with another dose of the painkiller. He had procured it from Fabius Bile himself, who claimed that the substance was almost impossible to gain a tolerance against. He hoped so considering he would need it the rest of his life to function. Merely breathing could set his chest on fire; if he moved too quickly he could feel his crippled body struggling to recuperate. The Sorcerer reached the Cabal of eight Sorcerers and was simply to content to watch them for a few moments. They enchanted the bolts in a manor that could best be describing as an assembly line, summoning the powers of the warp for menial tasks. It made him sick to see it abused in such a way; such abuse was what caused the flesh-change.

"Ahem," he said. "There is a ritual we must attempt."

"For what?" asked the Head Psyker, a mutant known as Zekyle. Zekyle's flesh convulsed and writhed as he smoke, forming symbols and hieroglyphs that faded back into his body as soon as they appeared. For the briefest moment Kalgoth thought he saw his own name form on him, but he wasn't able to tell.

"You should know," said Kalgoth. "I must speak to my informant amongst their camp."

"Lord Domitan's informant," Zekyle corrected. "Know your place, cripple."

"Such irony. A non-Astartes excuses me of physical weakness," the Sorcerer hissed, smiling. He took a step forward and his tone of voice took a dark turn. "I could crush your skull within my gauntlet before you could react. Even in my injured state I am still stronger than you'll ever be. Now come with me."

Zekyle and his psykers silently followed the Sorcerer through the camp. After passing Domitan's tent and a group of marching Rubric Marines, they reached the communications center. The psykers immediately started their ritual, each chanting rituals while summoning on bursts of warp power. "Careful," Kalgoth growled. "If you mess up-"

"-They'll detect us contacting him," interrupted Zekyle. "Yes, I know. Now let me do my job and I'll let you do yours."

The air was beginning to swirl and glow as more and more of the Immaterium was drawn into the material realm. Whispering voices spoke of pain and destruction. Daemons briefly flared into existence but faded away. Kalgoth activated the archaic communications unit and carefully switched to the right frequency as the summoned warp energy poured into it. Finally the machine activated. There was a brief static, but a rough voice cut through it. "What is it now?"

"How far are you?" said the Sorcerer.

"Far enough."

"If you want our assistance, you're going to have to cooperate with us."

"I have multiple converts, but we are still in the minority. I'm progressing carefully; we couldn't survive exposure this earlier on.

"I'm impressed," Kalgoth said. "You usually don't see Khornites with as much... patience as yourself."

"You dare mock the Blood God?"

"Not at all, I was simply complementing you. Now, we are going to attack as early as possible to keep up our momentum after taking the gulch. To be exact, we're attacking Haven."

"They planed for that. The city has been cleared out of all people and valuables and shelled to the ground. Davion knew you would try to take it."

"Thank you for the information," grudgingly replied Kalgoth. He knew he would have to explain it to Domitan and his Lord would no doubt be displeased. "If Haven has already been destroyed, then we'll skip that step and go directly to the next one; attacking the base itself."

"I can assure you my Company will be... busy at the time. 1st Company will be alone and it still hasn't recuperated from the gulch."

"Excellent. Goodbye." The Sorcerer turned off the machines as the Cabal gradually constricted the warp flow until it was no longer seeping into the material realm.

Oh my, now this I like. And gratzs on including the Thousamd Sons!

Ty for the comment; yeah, Thousand Sons (just like most CSM) don't get enough attention from Black Library or Games Workshop.

Nice new part!

LoneLictor wrote:Ty for the comment; yeah, Thousand Sons (just like most CSM) don't get enough attention from Black Library or Games Workshop.

Yes sadly, but at least they havent been Matt Warded...yet. But I have to ask, witch authours are your influence?

Trondheim wrote:

LoneLictor wrote:Ty for the comment; yeah, Thousand Sons (just like most CSM) don't get enough attention from Black Library or Games Workshop.

Yes sadly, but at least they havent been Matt Warded...yet. But I have to ask, witch authours are your influence?

Graham McNeil and Dan Abnett influenced me to write Warhammer 40k stuff, with the books Storm of Iron, Ravenor and Horus Rising. Those two guys are amazing authors. And yes, there's always a positive side; every minute they're ignored is a minute Matt Ward isn't saying, "What if we brought Doomrider back and had him kill 2,000 Sisters of Battle by summoning on the power of the Emperor?" or something else equally terrible.

Davion surveyed what remained of the 1st Company with a pained expression. There weren't more than thirty Guardsmen, most of whom had their fair share of bandages and casts. "Captain Tion, these men can't protect our base. They'll be outnumbered by Astartes. Let that sink in. These injured, demoralized, poorly equipped men will be outnumbered by 10,000 year old Traitor Legionnaires with the finest power armor and heretical sorcery. They simply can't do it."

"This isn't exactly the Cadian Gate," Tion said. "It doesn't need as much defense as you think."

"After that debacle in the gulch its become apparent you're overly optimistic. As such, I'm going to put trust in myself as opposed to you. We're going to contact the Agares 16th and request assistance." The words pained him greatly. Among the Agares Regiments, a cry for help was viewed as weakness. Regiments were trusted to complete their missions by themselves, as opposed to wasting the time and resources of other Imperial forces. That said, he knew he needed to. The Thousand Sons had to be stopped, even at the cost of the Regiment's pride and honor. "Understood?"

Tion grudgingly replied, "Yes Colonel. However, if I may say-"

The door to the barracks swung open and Major Slyth and Faustinus walked inside. "You may not," interrupted Slyth. "Your superior officer has made his decision and you are to abide with it. Now we must speak to the Colonel in private. Clear out!" The Guardsmen slowly exited, some in wheelchairs or with canes. Tion was muttering something as he stepped outside, but Faustinus shot him a look and he immediately stopped. Once they were alone, Slyth said, "There was a traitor amidst us."

"What?" asked Davion. "Tell me everything!"

"At 23 hours I caught a soldier in the armory past its closing time," Faustinus explained. "I raised my bolt pistol at him and demanded to know what he was doing. He turned towards me and I caught full view of him. It was Private, formerly Captain, Swithe, but he was mutated, for lack of a better term. Patches of red scales were growing from his flesh. His eyes were pitch black with crimson pupils. Horrible, oversized fangs were portruding from his mouth. Swithe snarled and fired a plasma pistol at me. Fortunately the shot missed and he hit a stockpile of grenades. I managed to leap behind cover in time and he did not. He was almost completely destroyed by the blast."

"There was enough of him left for me to determine that the Lord Commissar was telling the truth. During the autopsy, I found a symbol tattooed onto his back. It was a symmetrical image reminiscent of a skull," Slyth added. "From the position that it was on his back, he couldn't have done it himself. There's at least one remaining heretic and likely many more than that."

"Swithe was a member of the 2nd Company, correct?" Davion said.

Yes," flatly answered Faustinus. "He was a member of the Infantry Platoon Celius, the second Infantry squad to be exact."

"Tell Captain Lambert and Lord Commissar Cassian. Have them strip search every single Guardsman, Servant and Mechanic for tattoos, mutations or anything similar. If anyone is caught, I want them brought to me alive for interrogation. Do you understand?"

"Oh course," both Slyth and Faustinus said simultaneously.


Chapter Three: Restraining Bolt


Lord Commissar's Journal-10/14 998.M41

Traitors within Regiment. Likely Khorne Cultists judging by large amounts of red, scales and iconography. While stocking up on explosives, found one Cultist. He was careless marksman and fired into a bin of grenades, blowing himself up and creating a sizable red smear on the ground. I told the Colonel that I was simply checking up on the armory; he can't know what explosives were for. Davion gave me orders to hand over the investigation to Commissar Cassian and Captain Lambert He thinks hes a loyal man but hes not; too afraid to act. Previously I thought him a traitor but now I know better. He is simply a coward and a weakling. Major Slyth appears better, but she is hiding something. Spends all of her time in her quarters or at the Colonel's side and never goes into battle or leads soldiers herself. Will investigate later. Higher priorities for now.

The Thousand Sons have not yet acted since Davion's failure at the gulch. One would think they would immediately continue from that attack. They are planning something and are likely tied to the Khornite heretics. Can't trust Cassian and Lambert with the investigation. Cassian is recklessly violent, using his esteemed position as an excuse for bloodshed. Possible candidate for conversion by the heretics. Lambert is the opposite; an easily intimidated pacifist similar to Davion but worse. There is corruption within the Regiment and its purging cannot be trusted to the corrupt.

Sergeant Dodsin furiously scrubbed his medal, dead set on removing the bloodstains. "Blasted Geon, bleeding all over me," he muttered. "Couldn't he bleed on something else?" The door to his quarters shattered with a booming noise, sending fragments of wood in all directions. Completely terrified, Dodsin dropped the medal to the floor and drew a laspistol. Faustinus slowly stepped inside, powerfist humming. His black trench coat was stained with something dark and red. "Lord Commissar," stammered Dodsin. He slowly put down the laspistol. "I didn't know it was you. I would never point this at you."

"Good," growled Faustinus. "Take off your clothes."

"Pardon?" asked the Sergeant, horrified.

"You; take off your clothes now. Was Private Swithe one of your men?"

Dodsin paused before answering. "Yes."

"Private Swithe tried to kill me," the Commissar said as slowly and deliberately as possible. "Now take off your clothes. Do it slowly. Don't reach into any pockets."

The Sergeant unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it to the floor along with his medal. "Shirt too." Dodsin frowned nervously. "Do I have to?" he asked. Faustinus grabbed the shirt with his nonpowerfist hand and wrenched the man's shirt off as violently as possible. On the man's back was red and gold tattoo sticking out like a sore thumb. "Its not what it looks like." A single swing from the powerfist obliterated his chest, sending fragments of bone and clumps of viscera in all direction. Dodsin's head fell to the floor, a horrified expression em-blazed on his face.

Oh my, looks like commisar is quite trigger happy indeed. I smel a devios plot and a unexpeced traitor comming soon. And yes, the less our beloved CSM see of Matt Ward the better, or IG for that mather

With the way the comissar is going, chaos marines and cultist are the least of their worries.

Ty for the comments. Faustinus is a fun character because he's a danger to his comrades because he's too loyal, as opposed to because he's a heretic or traitor.

Astartes scarcely needed sleep; they could go for weeks without it. However, the draining experience of psychic powers caused Domitan to sleep as much as any mortal. The rewards are unimaginable the voice purred as the Sorcerer Lord stumbled through the relentless void. Warp energy swirled in all directions. Why aspire for only the favor of your Primarch when instead you could instead unseat him? The Sorcerer Lord looked down and saw his Terminator armor transforming. Ceramite plates turned to red, scaly muscle. Admantium rods became a massive exoskeleton. The trophy pikes on his back grew and merged, spreading into a massive pair of leathery wings. Tusks mounted on his helmet twisted and writhed, morphing into spiraling ram horns. The Legion could be yours Now Domitan walked with purpose, cutting through the arcane energies and pushing aside Daemons. All I ask for is loyalty. Can I trust you?

Domitan scanned for the figure behind the voice, but was unable to see past the warp currents. "Yes," he answered. "I pledge my service to you, as I pledged many millennial before. I pledge my service and loyalty to Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways!"

Good the voice said. Very good. Now awaken my Champion. The galaxy is yours to take.

The Sorcerer Lord eye's shot open and he immediately grabbed his force weapon. He looked down and only saw Terminator armor. Domitan sighed, realizing it was just another dream. They tormented him; each night he was given great gifts, only to awake and discover they never were. Soon the Changer of Ways would finally grant them and Daemon Princedom would be achieved, but he had to work until than. "May I come in?" asked a weak voice from outside of the tent.

Realizing it was Kalgoth, Domitan immediately said, "Enter." The crippled Sorcerer threw open the tent door and carefully stepped inside. "My lord, I bring bad news. Colonel Davion had the city shelled to prevent us from sacking it."

"He's smarter than we thought," Domitan said. "Never the matter. We will proceed with our plans. How well is the base protected?"

Kalgoth sighed in relief and the Sorcerer Lord could tell that his minion was grateful to not be the subject of his wrath. It pleased him to know how desperate Kalgoth was for his favor; prior to the flamer incident the Sorcerer had been haughty and arrogant, believing no one to be his superior. The incident had drastically reduced his powers and taught him quite a bit of humility. "The Cultists have arranged for the 1st Company to be alone and unprepared for the assault. For Khornites they are quite useful."

"They're like wild dogs," explained Domitan with a sneer. "So long as you point them in the right direction they can be extremely useful, but one must always be careful with them. They are predictable only in their lust for bloodshed."

"Of course, my Lord. Will you be going personally into battle again?"

The Sorcerer Lord smiled. "Have I ever done otherwise? Ready my men. I want squads Amon, Selket and Meskhenet prepared for battle and awaiting my orders. All other squads are to be on watch, ready for any attack. Well I am gone you will be in Command. Tonight the Thousand Sons march to war."