Visions of Darkness

by SFaccountant

The Tactician

Visions of Darkness

Punctuation key: "Gothic Speech", +Binary Speech+, "Out-of-narrative speech"

The Tactician

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 5
Temple of Nurgle

Sliver knelt within a shallow pool of rancid water, his head bowed. His hands rested together on the pommel of his hammer, which lay head-down in the muck.
He remained this way for minutes, silent and unmoving. The only sound was the dripping of various water flows in the temple, and the distant echoes of cultists walking amongst the worn stone of the floors.
Then, as if on some unspoken signal, the Iron Warrior surged to his feet and swung his hammer around.
"DAMNATION!" Sliver roared, raising his weapon into the air above his head.
The hammer didn't fall. Sliver's cold intellect fought a silent battle against his boiling rage within his head. This was holy ground, not some training yard for him to abuse as he saw fit. Such tantrums were beneath him.
Gently placing his weapon down, Sliver started pacing restlessly.
"I shouldn't be here. Thiss iss a wasste of time. If Grandfather cannot balm my mind, then my time would be better sspent reviewing launch data and progresss reportss," the Chaos Lord growled.
Still, he was reluctant. His Nurgle worship had always sat uncomfortably with his duties, and he knew that there was nothing especially important that demanded his attention. Now was the time for prayer. But he found himself dissatisfied.
Amidst his brooding, Sliver picked up a noise that had become remarkably familiar of late: the sound of hooves against stone. He wasn't even that annoyed by it anymore. Still, he debated leaving the temple rather than dealing with the ponies approaching, if only to avoid them seeing him so flustered.
In the end his indecision kept him rooted in place until the mares emerged from a sewer-like tunnel joining Sliver's prayer room to the rest of the temple.

"Ah! Lord Sliver!" Poison Kiss said brightly as soon as she saw the bloated Chaos Lord. "Cheerio!"
"Hey, Lord! What's happening?" Breezy Blight asked with a smile.
Only Rot Blossom failed to offer an enthusiastic greeting, afraid that they may be interrupting his prayers or some other personal affair.
The equines of Phage Squadron were wearing torn brown robes rather than their wargear, and their coats were damp and dirty. Sliver guessed they had been in the temple for some time.
"Just got done with a few conversions and baptisms!" Kiss said eagerly. "Grandfather is quite popular with the ill and dying! This crop was mostly younger ponies, and not a fighter amongst them, but give them some time and maybe a little cholera and they'll do Nurgle proud!"
"All mares, though," Breezy griped, "sure would be nice to find an infected stallion for a change..." She pawed at the floor tiles restlessly while Kiss rolled her eyes. Blossom might have been rolling her eyes too, but it was impossible to tell through her mane.
Sliver turned to stare at the ponies silently for a few seconds, and then turned his gaze away with a noisy snort. Then he shifted his pose to again kneel in the filthy pool at his feet.
The mares of Phage Squadron weren't particularly surprised or concerned with being brushed off. Sliver had always been unfriendly, even for an Iron Warrior. But something still seemed off about the encounter. It wasn't like Sliver to try to retreat into distraction when he saw them; normally he gave them his full attention or dismissed them directly as his mood demanded.
The Nurglite ponies hesitated only a moment, and then Poison Kiss tossed her head toward the water, gesturing to her squadmates. The ponies gently stepped into the pool themselves, lining up next to the armored behemoth that they called Master.
"Bless us, Plaguefather, your children in arms," Kiss intoned, closing her eyes, "lend us your poison and turn it to strength. Protect us from the blades and bullets of the foe that would deny you, and we, in turn, shall grant your love to them."
"Blessed be the rot," added Blossom.
"Praise Nurgle!" shouted Breezy, flapping her wings and unsettling the water below.
"Every one of us you mold into a colony of disease, a living, thriving city. Rich with life, and given power over death. Thank you, Grandfather, and-"
"Be SSILENT," Sliver snapped.
The reaction was immediate, and quite telling. The ponies flinched away, their ears folded down, and Blossom whimpered. They looked up at the Chaos Lord with eyes full of hurt, but also concern. This was not a normal reaction.
Sliver hardly cared if he was feared or hurt the feelings of his warriors (or whatever the ponies rated as these days), but he instantly regretted lashing out like that anyway. Prayers to Nurgle were nothing that he should be silencing without good reason. This was mere venting, and there were more productive ways to spend his fury.
With a frustrated growl, Sliver stood up again and approached the wall of the room.
Poison Kiss shared another glance with the other mares, and then carefully took a step after the Iron Warrior. "My Lord? Have we displeased you?"
Sliver made another incoherent noise. He didn't owe the ponies an explanation, but he didn't feel especially aggravated by their presence, either. Eventually he decided that if he was going to vent in front of the equines, then he may as well vent to them rather than on them.
"It iss not you who hass disspleassed me, no. Thiss quarrel hass nothing to do with you or your kind. Or very little, at leasst." Sliver quite deliberately placed his hammer in a corner and then stepped back out of reach. If he lost his temper again, the extra effort to find his grip might very well prevent a new hole in the wall.
When he turned back to Phage Squadron, their expressions had changed completely. Their ears were perked up and they leaned forward eagerly, hanging on to every word. Sliver found it slightly embarrassing.
A deep sigh spat puffs of moist, rancid gas from the filters of his helmet. "The Russted Brotherhood iss gone. Celvid and Darrok were unable to esscape the Sspace Hulk in time when it was ssundered by the Warp sstorm. They formed the center of the rearguard when we sstarted evacuating the vesssel, holding back the Orkss who didn't even care that their ship was coming apart beneath their feet. Their ssacrifice ssaved dozenss of other brotherss, but their fate painss me deeply. Their bodiess were recovered before retreating through the sstorm, but... whatever the Orkss had not desstroyed the Warp finished off. They are gone."
Blossom gasped. The mares all looked stricken by the news, which Sliver found fairly surprising.
"I'm so sorry, Lord," Kiss said as she hung her head, "we didn't realize..."
"Of coursse you didn't," Sliver growled, "none of you equine wormss think on the cosst of our victory. The livess expended to keep the Orkss at bay. None of you CARE." He shifted and pointed a finger in the general direction of Canterlot. "That white witch who hass sseized control of the very ssolar cycle ssitss in her gilded capital - that we have TWICE recovered from alien domination - and whingess about the evilss of Chaoss and the tragedy of thiss world'ss corruption! It infuriatess me to think my brotherss perished to the benefit of that inssolent fool!"
"Is that what's bothering you?" Blossom asked tepidly. "That everypony seems so happy? Would you... feel better if we mourned with you?"
Sliver didn't answer for several seconds, staring at a crude relief of the Mark of Nurgle on the wall.
"No. No, that iss not my grievance. Merely a ssymptom of it. My fellow Iron Warriorss hardly show the ssame regret for the livess losst, nor even the mercenary sscum, even though they have borne the greatesst brunt of the cassualtiess." He swept a hand to the side. "I desspisse thiss world. I hate fighting on it, and I detesst fighting for it. I hate every creature that walkss itss ssoil..."
This time all three of the mares whimpered and looked sad.
"... Perhapss not thosse who have found their way to Nurgle'ss embrace," Sliver allowed reluctantly. The ponies perked up instantly. "But there iss nothing on thiss globe I would deem worthy of fighting for. No prize worth the livess of Iron Warriorss, be they the mighty Russted Brotherhood or the incompetent Asstartess that sswell our lessser rankss. Yet here we are. And here we sstay, until the damned shipss can be repaired. It frusstratess me."
The Chaos Lord sighed again. "Celvid thought thiss world may be worth defending. He talked of turning it into a home. But even if it iss sso, he will not ssee it."
"You care for your men very much," Kiss whispered. A small track of tears ran down her cheeks, and the unicorn paused to wipe them away with a leg. "It is not a common trait among the Iron Warriors, as far as we can tell."
Sliver made another aggravated sound. "It iss not a common trait among Asstartess of any breed or loyalty. Every one of uss iss a son of Perturabo, a fragment of the greatesst of the Primarchss. Every one of uss hass limitlesss potential. Yet we are collected and expended like ammunition. Even Ssolon..."
Sliver trailed off, his voice trembling. Then he turned away sharply, and leaned against a wall.
"My Lord?" Kiss began hesitantly. "If... If you don't mind me asking... there's something I've wondered for some time. Why is Warsmith Solon the High Commander?"
"What do you mean?" Sliver demanded, glancing back at the ponies.
"Why not you, Lord?" Kiss clarified. "I mean, personally, I rather like Warsmith Solon, but he certainly isn't very popular. It's obvious that you command much greater respect and do the bulk of the military planning. So why is the Warsmith in charge?"
Sliver turned to face the wall again. The ponies waited uncomfortably for an answer, but the seconds rolled by in silence.
A deep, aggravated groan came from Sliver's helmet, and he turned away from the wall. "Warssmith Ssolon iss Warssmith of the 38th Company firsst and foremosst becausse my Primarch, Perturabo, decreed it sso."
Sliver stomped across the length of the room, and his massive gait sent rolling waves through the shallow prayer pool.
"That iss not to ssay he iss entirely unssuited to the role. The pride of the Iron Warriorss meanss nothing to him, and he iss ever concerned with ssupply levelss and material efficienciess. It iss an ideal attitude for thiss fleet'ss objective. And he hass many other talentss that have proven mosst usseful."
Sliver reached a raised stone ridge that seemed to be carved out of the wall, and then sat down on it. The stone cracked instantly from his weight and dropped his seat several inches, but he didn't even seem to notice.
"... I could lead the 38th if I sso chosse," Sliver said after a long pause, "I have had the opportunity. I did not take it."
"Why not?" Blossom asked softly.
Sliver leaned forward. "Becausse to elevate my orderss above Ssolon'ss would be to defy my Primarch'ss wishess. To asssume that I knew better than Perturabo, who assked me to watch over the Warssmith, would be an act of grave hubriss."
He paused, staring up at the grimy, dripping ceiling. "Bessidess... we do not make ssuch a poor leadership, him and I. Ssolon keepss my armiess well-ssupplied and ssupported, and keepss attrition of my sservantss low. Desspite our army'ss reputation and remit, the 38th boasstss conssiderable numberss and ressourcess beyond that of more resspected Warssmithss. That iss due to Ssolon'ss influence and effortss."
He paused again, and then looked down at Phage Squadron. They were seated on the floor in front of him, laying together in a row and listening attentively.
"And now we count you wretchess among our number, as well," Sliver rumbled, "I am quite ssure no ssuch thing would have happened under my command."
"Well, then I'm glad he's in charge!" Breezy said with a grin.
Kiss tilted her head to the side. "So this 'Perturabo' man gave you the order to help lead this army?"
"He did," Sliver confirmed, "but Perturabo iss no mere man. He iss our greatesst leader and father, the pinnacle of all our idealss. To even meet with him perssonally, alone, wass a great honor."
Again Sliver's thick, phlegm-laden monologue halted.
"The asssignment he gave me... wass not."

****

Gloriana-class cruiser Iron Blood - briefing room

I knelt the moment I stepped past the front door, my knee plate slamming onto the floor and my gaze dropping to fix upon that very point.
"My Primarch. I am honored to hold audience with you," I said reverently, "how may I serve?"
No response came immediately, although I heard him turn around. He was fully armored, and his plate was massive, even larger than my current daemon armor.
"... So you are Captain Sliver."
"Yes, my Lord Primarch."
I was... nervous. This was a troubled time in our Legion's history. We had turned traitor against our Emperor, but our rebellion had failed. The Warmaster, Horus, was dead. The Legions of Chaos fled across the galaxy, shamed and broken in a haphazard retreat from the Imperium's remaining armies. Our own Legion had fared better than most, but we still found ourselves on the losing side, and our allies were useless. Nobody knew what would become of us, but we looked to Perturabo, as always, for guidance.
But what of me, then? I had not failed, as far as I was aware. The Iron Warriors, at least, had performed their duty impeccably during the Siege of Terra, unlike certain other armies.
"The Emperor's Children?"
Yes... Wait, how do you know about them?
"You blokes gripe about them a lot. And as Chaos cultists, we DID eventually get curious as to why one corner of the Dark Pantheon was conspicuously absent among the army."
Good. At least I need not relate THAT story.

"Rise, Captain Sliver," Perturabo commanded.
I did so, and finally stared up into his eyes. Dark and brooding, but also... searching. Inquisitive. I didn't need to see my Primarch to know that he possessed a deep intelligence, but to look into that gaze is to know true humility. To realize that one is but a small component of a larger machine that only he truly comprehends.
But machines sometimes require adjustment.
"I have heard some good things about you, Captain," Perturabo said curtly, "your rank is middling, but you have impressed."
I hesitated, somewhat surprised. "You... honor me, my Primarch. I have merely fulfilled my duties as instructed, nothing more. I am... I am honestly surprised that Commander Lavvix thought it warranted mention."
"He didn't," Perturabo informed me.
"Oh. Then... Warsmith Kuan'Shen?"
"He characterized you as frail and naïve," my Primarch said calmly.
I said nothing in response, and he leaned forward.
"How does that make you feel, Sliver? To know that your contributions to our success are ignored or credited to others less deserving? To be criticized for performing your duties with excellence and skill?"
"I... I feel confused, my Primarch," I stumbled over my words, fighting the impulse to stare at the ground.
One thick eyebrow on Perturabo's face climbed upward. "Confused as to how you're treated this way, or confused as to why?"
"Neither, my Primarch," I answered, "I know well how a Commander might take credit for their underling's success or minimize its importance. I'm confused as to where you heard good things about me when my superiors have not vouched for my service."
Perturabo chuckled. It was like the sound of a macrocrane moving.
"Very good, Captain Sliver... very thoughtful indeed." He leaned back again until he sat up straight. "I did not speak falsely when I said that I had heard others commend you. But I did not hear this from your superiors. I heard this from your men." A grim smile crossed his face. "They respect you. Appreciate you, even. Not just as a leader willing to fight among them, but as someone who eschews the petty politics and guile of our upper ranks. They think you're different. And I think they're right."
"Different...?" I was uncertain. So far the meeting had been going very well, but I was wary of overreaching or failing some hidden test of strength or character.
"You could have defended yourself against your Warsmith's criticisms or attacked him with your own. You did not. You could have started singing your own praises before your Primarch as soon as it was clear my view was favorable. You did not. You are humble, cautious, and you do not seek to place yourself above your betters. Your men even speak of impassioned grief for those lost and an honest concern for the suffering of your units. It looks alarmingly like... compassion." His brow creased. "If we're being honest, you aren't much of an Iron Warrior at all."
I felt my stomach tying itself into knots. Still, I waited for my Primarch to continue. I awaited his complete judgment.
Besides, I still didn't really know why I was here.
"Loyalty. Humility. Compassion," Perturabo rumbled, "even if narrow in scope, pertaining only to your Legion, these are... unique traits to find in one of my own. I do not possess them. It was by no quirk of my gene-seed or your instruction that you came to be the officer that you are."
I didn't know what to say. To be told that I was... different from my Legion Primarch was strange. Not necessarily a condemnation, but hardly praise. So I said nothing.
"Such traits, however, are not greatly valued by your current superiors," Perturabo continued once he seemed sure I was not going to object, "if left under the command of Kuan'Shen's Grand Battalion, I've no doubt you'll find yourself removed for some incidental failure or expire during a mission you had no hope of completing. That would be a waste. I am reassigning you a commander who can appreciate your virtues rather than resent them."
I looked up at my Primarch as he began making notes in a dataslate. It was... bizarre, to say the least, to see the mighty Primarch Perturabo performing simple bureaucratic work and shuffling low-level officers about his Grand Battalions.
"You are still confused," Perturabo grumbled as he worked, sensing my unease.
"I am, my Primarch. Why do I warrant reassignment from you, master of the Legion? Am I to undertake some specific mission?"
Perturabo showed me a stone-like frown.
"... In a manner of speaking, yes."
Another long pause settled over us, but this one was different. More tense. My Primarch was weighing his options, weighing me, in his head.
"We are at a delicate... no, an ominous time in our Legion's history," Perturabo growled. His temper was rising now, his eyes clouding over slightly. "The Warmaster has failed. The power that he sought to harness - that guided him to oppose the Emperor - Chaos, has failed. We flee along with the rest of the... rebels... for the Warp anomaly to the galactic West."
"The Eye of Terror..." I whispered.
Perturabo grunted in acknowledgment. "Eventually. First we head to Sebastus. I have one more parting gift for the Imperial Fists, and an offer for the Darker Powers." He pushed aside the dataslate, apparently done with it. "But the Legion must be prepared. Organized. Stronger than ever. We march into a new age. A dark, painful chapter of our history. A great many challenges await us aside from the lapdogs snapping at our heels." He sneered angrily. "If the Legion is to survive, it will need to adapt. We had prepared for a future as the masters of the Imperium, but instead we are to be the playthings of Chaos. Such is the price of Horus's failure that WE will come to pay!"
Perturabo leaned forward, and I heard the table groan under the pressure. My Primarch was veering further from the topic at hand, and I could feel the rage boiling away within him, slowly building itself toward violent release. I took a chance and spoke out of turn.
"What is to be my reassignment, my Primarch?"
He snapped a fierce glare toward me, but it vanished an instant later. Either he realized he was beginning to rant, or he he had decided to move me along so that he could attend to more important matters.
"You are hereby transferred to the 38th Company of the First Grand Battalion, under the command of Techmarine Solon," Perturabo's voice was again flinty and indifferent, as if what he was saying was of no real consequence, "there are leadership deficits among that command that I believe you are suited to address."
I believe I flinched, at the time.
"... Is that a problem, Sliver?" Perturabo asked. He was clearly waiting for a challenge or complaint.
"That is... generally considered a punishment detail, my Primarch," I said carefully, "am I being punished?"
At this question Perturabo looked thoughtful. I seemed to be deftly navigating the tumult of his mood, at least.
"... A punishment would imply that there is some behavior of yours that needs correcting," my Primarch finally said, "but that is not the case. I am sending you to Solon because he needs your help, not because you need his. Have you met him?"
"No, my Primarch. I've heard of him. And, well..."
"Nothing good, I'm sure," Perturabo snorted, staring up at the wall. It was covered with schematics and calculations based on the Imperial Palace. The only trophy he needed to commemorate that greatest and most bittersweet of victories. His greatest work. So far, at least.
"Techmarine Solon is not well liked by either his men or the men he supplies in the thick of combat. The criticisms of him and his command are largely true, but largely irrelevant. He is the only one I can trust with such a position, as he is the only Iron Warrior of sufficient rank and ability who would not make every effort to escape it."
Perturabo looked at me again, his eyes hard. "You will serve him, and you shall protect him, Sliver. He is not a strong man. But as we retreat across the galaxy and our foes multiply, his role, and that of the 38th Company, will become ever more crucial to our success. Do you understand?"
Once more, I knelt to my Primarch. "Battles are won with zeal. Wars are won with logistics. Thank you for this opportunity to better serve the Legion, my Primarch."
"You're welcome. You are dismissed."

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 5
Temple of Nurgle

"So, wait, I don't get it. If Perturabo liked you and he thought Warsmith Solon was a loser like everyone else, why didn't he put YOU in charge? Make Solon the Vice-Commander?" Breezy asked.
"As I ssaid before, I am not in the habit of quesstioning Perturabo'ss orderss," Sliver grumbled, "but if I had to guesss..." he looked up at the ceiling. "Compasssion. He ssaid I posssesss compasssion."
"I could argue the point, but okay, yeah?" Kiss prompted.
"Thiss iss a grave weaknesss to an Iron Warrior. To be moved by cassualtiess, to hessitate in sselling livess for an objective, iss a sseriouss flaw. One that Warssmith Ssolon doess not share. Perhapss my Primarch thought it besst if hiss relentlesss drive for efficiency held authority over my concern for my men. Or maybe..."
Sliver lowered his gaze back to the ponies. "Perturabo was alwayss curioussly indulgent of Warssmith Ssolon. I do not know why. One of hiss final actss before the misssion that earned him the form of a Daemon Prince wass to promote Ssolon to Warssmith and greatly expand hiss command. Perhapss he ssaw ssomething in Ssolon. Ssome hidden sstrength or advantage to him that esscapess hiss criticss."
"Well, he DOES prefer not to kill alien races on sight if they're no threat to him," Blossom pointed out, "we kind of like that about him."
For the first time since any of the mares had known him, Sliver laughed. It was a slow and heavy, like the beat of a drum, and it was the first non-angry outburst of emotion that Phage Squadron had ever seen from the Chaos Lord.
"Yess... perhapss my Primarch foressaw that one day, Warssmith Ssolon would bring poniess into the Legionss of Chaoss, and unite equine-kind againsst the Imperium. That wissdom certainly would have esscaped lessser mindss."
The laughter didn't last long, and soon he was back to his usual raspy breathing.
"Nonethelesss, Ssolon'ss decissionss chafe. That iss the ssource of my pressent melancholy. Hiss orderss here have cosst uss gravely, but he actss as if we've achieved a great victory."
"Okay, true," Kiss began her protest hesitantly, "but no one could have foreseen that the Orks would come charging straight through a Warp storm like that. Even Serith was shaken up."
A deep, bestial growling noise came from Sliver's helmet, and the ponies felt their fur stand on end.
"Ssserith..." Sliver's usual slur hissed slightly longer than usual as he spat the Sorcerer's name. "We were foolish to ever trusst that one."
"I think that's a BIT harsh," Breezy mumbled, "sure, he made a mistake, but it was in good faith, right? And he helped fix it, too!"
"We can never be ssure if Sserith'ss failure iss merely incompetence or a calculation," Sliver grumbled, "although, to be fair, he triess to dissguisse the former as the latter more often than the other way around."
"So, how was it? Joining the Company, I mean?" Blossom asked, trying to steer the conversation back to Sliver's past.
"Misserable. The Iron Warrior typically relegated to our Company iss a cut below the average ssoldier. Too weak for the other Warssmithss, but sstill too valuable to ssacrifice for ssome kind of daemonic ritual; that iss the 38th Company. Morale iss terrible, and where the Legion'ss other armiess ssuffer from paranoia and political sstrife, we ssuffer from apathy."
"How so, Lord?" Kiss asked.
Sliver took a moment to consider the question. "... In any normal army, Warssmith Ssolon would have been ussurped long ago. There have been many opportunitiess, given how often he iss dissabled after being mauled in a duel. However, no Iron Warrior wishess to be the one to replace him and manage thiss fleet'ss dutiess. Ordinarily promotion iss the besst method of ssurvival in an Iron Warrior army. That iss not the casse with uss. And nobody hass ever been reasssigned from our rankss."
"So you're buggered as soon as you end up here, eh?" Kiss asked with a frown. "Do you think they'd show a little more pep if you were Warsmith?"
Sliver nodded. "I do. A ssquad of ssoldierss told me as much, once."
"Just once?" Breezy asked.
"Yess... once."

****

Void Fortress Charnel
(Formerly Fortress Screaming Rapture)

The assault had been a crushing success.
We had gone in as a Chaos fleet, for a change. Not an exceptionally cunning deception, given that it was true. We declared ourselves renegades, spoke curses against the Emperor that no Loyalist could think to utter, and told them that we wished to join and supply their twisted revelries.
The servants of Slaanesh met with a swarm of unarmed mercenaries and deck ratings that docked with their station. Emperor's Children, as well as a great many of their mortal playthings. I'm not sure if Fulgrim's depraved Children ever suspected anything at all; I am inclined to give other Astartes the benefit of the doubt, but Slaanesh's warriors are a special breed of idiot.
In any case, with some micro-automata of Solon's design in the base, we were able to quietly cripple their internal security systems and communications. When we boarded the void fortress ourselves to kill the Emperor's Children we met almost no organized resistance. Some of the enemy Astartes were even killed in their sleep.
The most significant casualty was Warsmith Solon, naturally. He managed to find some Chaos Lord of no consequence in the Overseer's quarters. The Slaaneshi scum was putting power swords into Solon, one by one, when I found them. Each blade speared a separate organ, apparently, and he was saving Solon's hearts for last.
"Eww. Gross."
And stupid. I slew the Chaos Lord myself and had Warsmith Solon carted off to the station's medicae facility.
The void fortress was ours.
"What happened to all the humans you sent in as a decoy?"
Them? After the assault, many were declared lost and given over to the Dark Mechanicus for recycling into servitors. Some had gone insane in the short period of time they were exposed to Slaaneshi worship, and others took to their "cover" of depraved reveling too convincingly to be trusted afterward. But theirs was a worthy sacrifice, for but six Iron Warriors met their end against tenfold as many Emperor's Children.
The mission was complete, casualties minimal, and a great deal of valuable spoils had come from our fellow Astartes. I was most satisfied with the result.
Not everyone was.

"What is it, Raikken? I have much to do before we set out again. The station must be stripped bare as soon as possible."
I was following an older veteran into the depths of the fortress, told that he needed to speak to me about an urgent matter. Although I had much work to do, I made a point of meeting with my soldiers upon request when I could.
"Your strategy was superb, Lord Sliver," Raikken said as he led me forward, "the fools never saw us coming, even after we had been slaughtering them for hours."
"Slaaneshi scum are hardly worth the effort," I replied, "and much credit must be given to the Warsmith's toys. His creations worked flawlessly."
"Of course, Lord," Raikken replied, "but it was your strategy. And you led the assault."
"Warsmith Solon led the assault," I corrected the Aspiring Champion, "I only took command once he was incapacitated."
"Because of course he was incapacitated," Raikken growled. There was something strange in his tone, and I was becoming tense. I was no stranger to fawning praise, or to contempt for my master, but it felt as if I was being led into a trap, of some sort. My grip tightened around my power axe.
"What is this about, Raikken? If you wish to complain about the Warsmith, I will hear you out at a more convenient time."
He shook his head. "No, Lord Sliver, that's not..." he trailed off uncertainly. "We're almost there. Just ahead."
Raikken was acting suspiciously, but I trusted him enough not to demand an explanation just yet. He and I were close, and he was but one of a handful of warriors I found worthy to lead who were not Warpsmiths.
"Why are Warpsmiths exempt?"
That's... complicated. The Techpriests of our Legion have always had a different attitude toward service to the 38th Company than the rest of the Iron Warriors. It's not important.
I was led into an antechamber. There were numerous dead bodies heaped in a corner, and the room was thick with gore. Along with... other fluids. I really do despise the Emperor's Children. Even murdering them is revolting and degrading.
Aside from that, there were five other Iron Warriors waiting for us. I knew all of them well; they were all squad leaders, resolute and driven. A world apart from the miserable sort that make up our rank and file.
There was also a Dark Techpriest there. This alarmed me, as this particular Techpriest was supposed to be attending to Warsmith Solon in the medicae at the moment.
"What is this? Why isn't Techpriest Bienna at her post?" I demanded.
I would have asked the Techpriest herself, but she was quite obviously being held here by force. Two Iron Warriors stood by her side, bolt pistols in hand with their other hands free to grab her if she made any sudden movements. Bienna was hunched over, her servo arms curled up.
"Bienna has been reassigned, for the moment," Raikken said as he turned to face me.
"Reassigned? Then who is caring for Warsmith Solon?" I demanded.
"Hmph! 'Caring for'!" snarled another Chaos Space Marine. "As if the Warsmith is a youngling to be coddled."
This stopped me short. Contempt for Warsmith Solon was quite common amongst our ranks, obviously, but this had a hostile edge to it that I was unfamiliar with. "Perhaps you should explain yourself, Raikken."
"Of course, Lord Sliver," Raikken bowed his head to me, "although I'm sure you've already guessed at our intentions. We wish to see a change in leadership within the 38th Company."
"Warsmith Solon is currently unconscious, and - as is too often the case - gravely injured," grumbled another Aspiring Champion. Derak, I believe he was called. "He can be executed or restrained as necessary. Or just left to expire and rot away with the rest of the trash."
"This is a mutiny, then," my tone was ice cold, "and yet, you've come before me to declare your intentions."
"Yes, Lord Sliver. Because YOU will be our new Warsmith," Raikken said with a slight smile.
Despite everything else, this actually surprised me. Betrayal and subterfuge were unfortunately common amongst the Iron Warriors, but I'd never heard of betrayers initiating a mutiny for the benefit of another.
"You are the heart and soul of the 38th Company. As well as its brain, no matter what the damnable Warpsmiths say." That one was named Regaal, I believe. "It is time you were afforded the command you deserve."
"You... want ME to betray Solon?" I asked. My voice probably possessed more confusion than was really appropriate. It wasn't a difficult concept to grasp.
"You needn't betray anyone," Raikken said firmly. "You are the Vice-Commander. If the Warsmith is incapable of continuing his duties, you are in command. What happened to the Warsmith... need not be your concern."
"It IS my concern," I protested, "I did not save Solon's life from that worthless deviant to see him murdered by my own soldiers!"
"Lord Sliver. Solon is an obstacle," Raikken said, trying his best to sound soothing, "worse, he is an easily surmountable one. If you wanted to take command of this fleet, you would have done so already. We all know this. You are simply stronger and more cunning than the Warsmith, and there are few Iron Warriors that would accept his orders over your own."
"But you presume to place me in command on your own volition, through base treachery," I growled, "is that right?"
The other warriors were growing uncomfortable, now. This wasn't going exactly as they had planned.
"We thought that perhaps you did not realize the support that you-"
"You were WRONG!" I snapped. "This... petty, childish obsession with rank and grandeur is beneath me! How does this strife serve the mission of our fleet? The mission of the Legion? Do you imbeciles truly think Solon can be discarded so easily, like a worn boltgun? Are you under the impression that his main contribution to our army is holding me back and embarrassing himself?"
Raikken took a step back. "That... uh... is the impression that-"
"Again, you are WRONG," I snarled. "I do not desire the burden of Solon's duties, nor do I wish to be any more responsible for cowards like yourselves." I pointed my power axe at Bienna. "Release the Dark Techpriest."
"Y-Yes, Lord Sliver." The Marines standing ready to restrain her quickly backed away, and Bienna looked up at me cautiously.
"Get back to work," I growled, "the Warsmith is in dire need of many new organs right now, and is in no state to fashion them himself."
She blurted something in Binaric Cant before rushing for the door. My visor could have translated it, but I didn't bother. My eyes were locked on Raikken.
"Well... this is awkward," the Champion mumbled, clasping his hands behind his back, "I truly thought you were as tired of being overlooked as we were, Lord."
"I have never been overlooked," I hissed, "I command such strength and loyalty, as you said, that I may overthrow Warsmith Solon at will. I do not do so because it is a bad idea. That you presume otherwise is testament to your own weakness and stupidity. And that you should attempt to overthrow him like THIS..."
Another Iron Warrior coughed through his vox grille. I think that one was named Yol'en. "Well, this is why we left Warsmith Solon alive, rather than killing him outright. We suspected you might not be pleased with his loss..."
"My Lord Sliver," Raikken continued, looking pained, "please, understand. We only wished to help you, as you have helped and guided all of us."
"And I suppose there was no thought of reward in your minds," I said coldly, "surely you didn't think you would be given my rank, or that of some dozen Warpsmiths who would object to this charade."
"I would have preferred an assignment on a different fleet," Raikken said with a bitter chuckle, "but that would have been my second choice, Lord."
I sighed in frustration. "Raikken... I'm sorry."
"It is no matter, Lord," the Aspiring Champion said with a wave of his hand, "it was our error."
"No. That is not what I was apologizing for," I said, right before I planted my axe blade in his jaw.
"Well. That escalated quickly."

The others were shocked by Raikken's immediate execution, but Astartes are well accustomed to sudden violence and the appropriate response. By the time Raikken's corpse hit the floor, the others had their weapons drawn.
"Lord Sliver!" cried Yol'en as he brought up his power sword. "Please, we-"
An axe stroke knocked aside his weapon and I fired my bolt pistol into his visor. He would survive the initial wound to be executed later.
None of the others did. They waited until I killed Derak until they actually fought back rather than begging me to stand down.
"By Grandfather..."
I killed them all. They were competent warriors, and I possessed but a fraction of the power I do now, but they were completely outmatched nonetheless. Solon had forged my power armor himself. Not daemon plate, but more than enough to turn aside their bolts and blades. It was washed red with the blood of my brothers, that day.
"But they... they were your friends, right?"
Friends? I don't know. My relationship with them was closer than that of my lesser men, but I had not yet created the Rusted Brotherhood. I was not a child of Nurgle. I did not share that bond with them.
It did not matter. Friendship, brotherhood... these things pale in comparison to duty. Those men respected me, perhaps loved me, but they did not learn from my example. To betray one's master for no better reason than desiring a better one is a crime I will not tolerate.
"But, wait... didn't all Chaos Space Marines betray that Emperor guy who-"
Shut up.
"Okay."

****

Several days later, the void fortress had been stripped apart and the desecrations of the Whore God burned. A few traps had been set, as a final gesture of contempt for the Emperor's Children. The next lot of them to arrive at the station for their depraved celebrations would find only empty halls and explosive death.
Warsmith Solon was back on his feet again, with a fresh clutch of machines humming away in his torso. He said that he would create better ones once he had the time, but had insisted upon a meeting with me as the fleet prepared to depart.
I thought he wished to discuss the next destination, or pry more deeply into the unexplained loss of six higher-ranking Iron Warriors after a mission was completed. I was close.
"You didn't have to KILL them, you know," Solon said with a heavy sigh, "their crime was a serious one, but they would have repented if you'd demanded it."
I was shocked still, at first. "... Who?"
"Raikken and the others," Solon clarified calmly, "slaying them was unnecessary. They had already backed down. You could have demoted them, or just locked them up for some period of time."
"Warsmith, how did you...?" I trailed off in frustration. I had taken steps to ensure that word hadn't gotten out about the execution of my men. Not that I intended to keep it a secret for long, but I wished to explain it on my own terms.
"It wasn't hard to figure out," Solon scoffed, "I just back-traced all your IFF signals through the void fortress internal auspex relay after I heard they had been killed. They all died standing in front of you, with no enemy units detected. After I pressed Dark Techpriest Bienna, it was not difficult to determine what had happened."
I wanted to feel agitated that Bienna had spoken directly against my orders, but after killing six champions to preserve the Warsmith's authority it was quite contradictory to expect a Dark Techpriest to defy it.
"I thought the internal auger system had been deactivated," I grumbled.
"It was suppressed. The data was collected, just not by the Emperor's Children. But that's not the point. I do wish you'd leave decisions on summarily executing my allies to me."
"Your 'allies'?" I asked incredulously. "Raikken and his conspirators were acting as assassins!"
"Not very good ones, obviously. They faltered as soon as you expressed doubt. They lacked the resolve to finish me right away, and their mutiny crumbled as soon as it encountered resistance. I'm simply saying that-"
I slammed a fist onto the table, and Solon jerked back. His servo arms ducked low, like frightened beasts.
"And you think nothing of the fact that if they POSSESSED greater resolve - or were slightly more impulsive - they would have slain you while you were helpless, without my knowledge?!" I roared. "You want those wretches alive, still, to continue plotting against you? To spread their idiocy that if YOU were removed from power, I would finally be given the rank I deserve and they would be able to escape this fleet for a posting they want?!"
Solon held up his hands in a placating gesture. "All right! Yes! Very good points! You're correct, Sliver! Let's drop the subject!"
I growled at him for a bit longer, and then turned around to leave.
"Wait, Sliver! That wasn't the only thing I had to speak to you about!" the Warsmith protested.
I halted, but did not look back. "What?"
"There were a number of prisoners captured when we took the station, as I'm sure you're aware," Solon began, recovering his posture.
"I am. Many mortals were found in states of exhaustion or were too drug-addled to resist when we arrived. What of it? The Slaaneshi worms are probably too wasted and deranged to function as slaves. Did you have a particular use for them?"
"I thought you fed your extra prisoners into your evil monster ship? That's what Dark Magos Kaelith keeps threatening to do with us if we break our wargear."
This was before the creation of the Harvest of Steel. Before he and I had taken to worshiping Nurgle. Even before Solon mastered the creation of daemonic wargear. It made it much harder to productively dispose of unwanted lives. Although we still did our best.
"Actually, I am particularly interested in one captured man who is NOT a cultist of Slaanesh," Solon continued, "he was found locked in an abnormally clean room with nothing but food and water. Wasn't restrained or anything. Quite strange."
I finally turned around to face my Warsmith. "Who is he? Some prisoner of theirs that would not turn to the Dark Gods?"
"Oh, no, he serves the Dark Gods, all right. Just not the Whore God in particular," Solon explained. "But consider it. He was left unharmed and unmolested by the Cultists and Emperor's Children. He bears no signs of torture or insanity. Either they had reserved him for something special, or for some reason tormenting him held no appeal."
I nodded slowly. "And what do you want done with this man?"
"I want you to oversee his interrogation immediately. He may have worth to us besides simple labor. Find out what he was doing there and what he knows. If he had some importance to the Emperor's Children, we may be able to harm them further."
"Wow, you REALLY hate those guys, don't you?"
"Is it really necessary for me to do this now? I have many other duties before we set out again," I complained.
"Well, normally I would have given the task to Raikken," Solon admitted, "but..."
"... Right. Fine. What is this man's name?"
"He goes by the name of Virgil, I believe. Thank you, Sliver."

****

"No way! Father Virgil was rescued from Slaaneshi cultists?"
For a given definition of "rescued". It's doubtful he was ever in danger. Whatever else I can say about the Children, Chaos faith is something that they take seriously, and Virgil's connection to the Dark Gods is quite obvious. He would have proven too useful to murder for fun... Probably.
"So does that mean they wouldn't hurt Father Virgil? Why did they capture him?"
To this day, we don't know what the Emperor's Children intended for him or how much they knew. Although, to be fair, the same could be said of us. We had no initial plans for him either, and even now the man is quite a mystery to us.
"Really? How?"
For starters, the events I'm recalling now took place some four thousand years ago.
"Ah. I see. He's aged rather well, hasn't he?"
Yes. But his impressive longevity is the least curious mystery of the priest. Virgil knows things. He can hear the whispers of the Gods.
"We all can, though. I don't like to bother Grandfather Nurgle, and it isn't like there's much point to it, really, but what makes him different from any other cultist?"
He can actually take something useful from them.
"Whoa!"
"Oh, wow."
"Bully!"

After I arrived for the interrogation, the most obvious curiosity was the indifference Virgil displayed. He was locked in an armored, guarded room and shackled to the walls, but he simply stared up at me with the same bland, disinterested expression he uses to this day.
"Hello, mortal," I sneered, stepping up in front of him, "I have been instructed to see to your accommodations while you're under our guard. How are your lodgings?"
"Technically adequate," Virgil replied.
"Good. We're going to move this along quickly, because I have little time to waste on you. If you cooperate, then I needn't bother having you tortured or possessed."
"Okay," he replied without the slightest hint of fear or resentment. Or any emotion, really.
"What were you doing with the Emperor's Children? Are you one of their servants? Or one of their playthings?"
"Neither. I was captured by the Emperor's Children while providing services to Chaos pilgrims heading to Screaming Rapture."
"Services? Of what sort?"
"I am a priest. I granted them blessings, heard out their concerns, and led their prayer."
I began pacing in front of him, my visor locked on his dull, listless eyes. "A member of the dark clergy? Hmph. That explains why you were not tortured for their amusement. But why were you imprisoned?"
Virgil shrugged.
"Make an educated guess," I growled, "there must have been a particular point at which they locked you up. Why would the Slaaneshi scum want to keep you from wandering the station and joining in their hedonism?"
"I don't know. They confined me soon after we made port with the station." He paused, tilting his head to the side. "Perhaps I stood out as the only human that was not especially excited to be there."
That gave me pause. "I can imagine how you might attract attention for your... attitude. Are you always so relentlessly stoic?"
"I'm told that I am," Virgil said blandly, "I would not contest it."
It's a remarkable thing about Virgil: it's exceptionally difficult to remain hostile to him. He could defuse a raging Khornate by boring them into a pacified state. I've seen him do it to Tellis, too. It's a talent I dearly wish I could replicate, at times.
I was already sorely tempted to undo his shackles and leave him to wander the ship as he wished, if only to keep from wasting anymore time. But my commitment to my task came first.
"You came to Screaming Rapture with a band of pilgrims, you say? Acting as their priest?"
"Yes."
"Did you expect to be detained by the Emperor's Children? To serve them rather than your... flock?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"The Emperor's Children are Slaaneshi. They need little counsel or guidance in their prayers and ceremonies, especially as they were not heading into battle. Depravity is all the Prince of Excess commands, and is something humankind excelled at long before it caught the attention of the Gods. I offered certain prayers and ceremonies to the Children, but they didn't seem interested. And then they locked me up."
"And then we showed up and captured you in turn," I mumbled.
"Yes."
A long pause settled over us.
"I get the distinct impression that you're not going to cause trouble. What would you do if you were to be set free to wander the ship?" I gestured toward the door.
"I would offer to guide your warriors in prayer and ceremony, and induct new cultists," Virgil paused, "until I can get to another station and onto another ship."
"Are you headed somewhere?"
"Yes."
By this point it hardly felt like an interrogation anymore. This man clearly posed no hostility or resentment, and was offering his help freely. Granted, at the time I didn't put much stock in Chaos faith or ceremony, but anything that could stiffen the backbones of our mercenary forces was welcome.
So my next question was asked purely out of curiosity.
"You want to leave, then? Is there some planet you're trying to get to?"
"Technically, no. It's not a planet."
I began removing the chains from his shackles. "What is it?"
"A graveyard. Or prison, perhaps. Nurgle's rotting heart, where his most prized victims' are left to fester. Malgotha."

****

Ship strategium

"Malgotha? Hmmm... What is that, exactly?" Solon rolled the name around on his tongue, grimacing slightly.
"It's a place. I know little more," I admitted before I sat down, "Virgil could not speak of it in anything approaching technical terms."
I brought up a star map and began working out the coordinates. "He seemed fairly sure where it was, however. And that it was related to the God of Plagues."
"Nurgle, is it? Interesting." Solon scratched at his vox caster. I positioned the pathing through the star map, then pointed to a particular spot.
"Here's where he claims it is. Not a planet, or planetoid, or so Virgil says. For having so few details on what it is, though, he seems quite sure and precise as to its location. Malgotha. Nurgle's rotting heart."
"Well, that could mean anything," Solon scoffed, "why does Virgil want to see it?"
"He says it's a prison. Again, whatever that means. I doubt it's a literal dungeon for holding prisoners, as daemons are not known for taking their foes alive. It's a holy site, evidently, and he wishes to see it as part of his religious obligations."
We gazed at the hololith for several seconds. I could hear the whir of Solon's optics as he stared intently, and knew his mind was churning as well.
"Well, it's not very far out of our way. Let's take him," the Warsmith said.
I really should have expected this, especially after pulling open a star map and pointing out the exact spot to him, but I must confess that I had not.
"You're not serious," I grunted, "why would we divert the fleet even a day out of our path for some mortal hitchhiker?"
"Proper priests of the Dark Gods are not so common as to be brushed off when encountered," Solon pointed out, "you can vouch for his legitimacy, at least?"
"The words that come from him ring true. I have no objective proof of his profession." I snorted. "I suppose that if there was really some sort of daemon planet hanging in realspace in the middle of nowhere, that would be evidence to his claim. But I see no point in it. There is unlikely to be salvage of any use to us." I paused, and then leaned forward. "More importantly, if Virgil IS correct, then we may well lead our fleet to its doom. Nurgle is not a being to take lightly, Warsmith."
"And so we will not," Solon insisted, "but it is the prerogative of Chaos fleets to seek out these sorts of places, is it not? Think of what we could learn! The artifacts that may be found!"
"I have little idea. My interest in the Chaos faith begins and ends with the weapons it may provide. I have no use for Gods."
"My, my, Lord... how far you've come."
"Do you have any formal objection, Sliver? We have ample time to find this place before we re-enter the Segmentum Solar."
I hesitated. Solon, as he often does, was leaving the final decision to me. My criticism of the mission would decide whether or not we went. I felt... strangely uncomfortable with this, despite being in this position hundreds of times before. I felt as if my future hung in the balance with this choice. Warriors who visit the holy sites of Chaos are often changed forever for the experience, and not always for the better.
"I feel like this is a waste of time. But I have no objections," I finally said, "if you wish to investigate this... place and assist Virgil, very well."
Those words had sealed my fate, as well as the Warsmith's.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 5
Temple of Nurgle

Sliver heaved a sigh. "That iss all. I feel ssomewhat at easse, now." He started to shift his armored bulk to stand up. "You may return to your own prayerss."
"Wait, what?" Breezy recoiled in surprise. "But what about Malgotha? How did you end up turning to Nurgle?"
"You do not need to know that," Sliver said evenly. He stood up again and took hold of his hammer.
"Awww... but I really wanted to hear about one of Nurgle's holy temples!" Blossom complained.
"It wassn't a holy temple, sstrictly sspeaking." Sliver mumbled.
"Then what was it?" Kiss asked, jumping in front of him. "Was it really a prison? Or Nurgle's heart?"
Sliver found himself surrounded by the three mares now, all of them staring up at him with big, wide eyes full of wonder and curiosity.
"Move asside," he commanded.
"Please tell us!" Blossom begged, clapping her front hooves together. "Is it some kind of forbidden lore? Or a Company secret?"
"No, it... rrrrgh..." As a growl rumbled within his helmet, it occurred to Sliver that he could simply walk over the equines and they couldn't possibly stop him. He found it strange that this was only occurring to him now, and even more so that he felt hesitant to risk squashing the ponies under his massive tread.
"Thiss tale iss... not one I sspeak of lightly. What happened on Malgotha..." Sliver sighed, letting his hammer rest on the ground beneath him again. "I ssupposse there'ss little point in hiding it. You'll probably jusst go and assk the Warssmith. He will not hessitate to tell you."
Again, it occurred to Sliver that he could simply punish or even slay the mares for bothering him. By now he could reluctantly admit to himself that he simply didn't want to do that. Somehow or another, he had reached the point where he'd rather endure being pestered by pony cultists than be rid of them for good.
Blossom wilted slightly. "Is it that bad? You don't... HAVE to say anything if it's painful for you." The earth pony's eyes were completely obscured by her bushy mane, but the pleading looks he was getting from the other two didn't seem nearly as ready to let the matter go.
"... No. I ssupposse it iss not," Sliver mumbled. He leaned back again into his previous seat, and the stonework cracked further under the bulk of his terminator armor. "Fine, then. I will tell you the tale of Malgotha."
"YES!" Breezy jumped and hovered briefly, tapping her front hooves together in excitement before dropping back down. The display caused a curious twinge of some strange, new, non-bitter emotion deep within Sliver, and the Chaos Lord took a moment to banish the aberrant sensation and compose himself before he dared speak again.

"Malgotha wass, as Virgil had ssaid, not a planet. When we initially found and approached it, we misstook the land for void debris. It wass a floating island ssitting within the empty depthss of sspace, one sside flat and the other a ssurface of jagged, icy rock. Barely twenty-five kilometerss from edge to edge, and half that in depth, yet it had a sstrong gravitational field. One that - naturally - only sseemed to work in order to allow atmosspheric presssure and movement over itss flat ssurface. Our augerss could make no ssensse of it."
"Chaos magic?" Kiss asked.
"Indeed. Malgotha reeked of the Warp. It wass a consstruct of Nurgle'ss will, depossited in realsspace for reassonss unknown to uss. Perhapss Grandfather meant for it to be found by unwitting mortalss like oursselvess. We made for the ssurface with a ssmall detachment of Iron Warriorss to esscort Virgil. He wass ssingularly unhelpful in preparing uss for the trip; he ssaid he had never been here before, desspite knowing where the blassted island wass in the middle of empty void."
"Preparing you? Why? Was it dangerous?" Blossom asked.
Sliver barked out some phlegm-choked combination of a laugh and a snort. "My little pony, Chaoss landss are ALWAYSS dangerouss..."

****

Malgotha - landing site

"I want a light defense perimeter here, focused along the ridge. The rear approach will be mined, with auto-turret cover. But I want the main path guarded by Astartes guns, and ready to be abandoned at a moment's notice!"
I immediately set about creating a perimeter and defensive fire plan. Despite the unusual nature of our visit, I intended to treat it like any other mission.
"Hmmm... atmospheric scans suggest that this air should be breathable... barely. Temperatures are inexplicably quite comfortable, too." Solon glanced over at me. "Should we bring down some of the mortal soldiers as well?"
"No. Not here," I replied sharply, "they're likely to fall victim to some manner of daemonic madness or illness and turn on us. Only Iron Warriors should make landing." Then I looked over my shoulder. "Not including this one, of course."
Virgil was standing at the edge of the defensive lines, writing on a scroll of parchment. He still wore his normal robes, with no armor or face protection. Curiously, even though he had been released from his cell's chains, he still wore the wrist shackles we had used to restrain him.
"I think it's symbolic. Father Virgil is very deep. Probably. I mean, he seems like the sort..."
The Warsmith approached the priest.
"Is this about what you expected, Virgil?"
Virgil looked up over the top of his parchment to stare at the surroundings. The lands around us were a noxious wasteland, both rocky and moist. Small pockets of sludge were scattered all around the vast plains, spitting cloudy vapors into the air. Strange, alien trees, withered and decayed, sported growths of shining crystals that provided basic illumination for us. It was hardly the most hostile or bizarre landscape any of us had seen, but it still boded ill.
"It's not bad," Virgil mumbled eventually.
"It's certainly more conducive to us needy biological life-forms than I would have expected," Solon noted.
"Such is the way with Nurgle. Disease is a form of life. Without other life, it cannot survive." Virgil gestured to the land ahead of us. "It is in the interest of the parasite to be inviting to its host."
"This is supposed to be 'inviting'?" A Warpsmith asked, staring at the vile landscape.
"To be fair, out of all the Dark Gods Nurgle has always had the most trouble with aesthetics," Virgil pointed out with a shrug.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 5
Temple of Nurgle

Sliver suddenly looked down at the mares sitting at his feet, pausing his story.
"That remindss me: I've been meaning to assk you three about that."
"About what?" Blossom asked.
"About not looking like your bodiess are wracked with disseasse and falling apart," Sliver clarified. "Granted, not all Nurgle cultisstss are sso blesssed as I, but I would have expected at leasst ssome fur losss or tumorss. If it weren't for your markss, one could misstake you for ordinary equiness."
"Oh, that!" Kiss smiled brightly and brushed aside a lock of her mane. "It isn't easy. A lot of cosmetic magic, a fair bit of primping, and a distinct preference for the non-disfiguring diseases keeps us in good shape! Seriously, I have every strain of cholera and tuberculosis there is, but I just can't abide mange."
"It's kind of a drag sometimes," Breezy admitted, "I go through a few packs of mints every day to keep my breath from hurting people when I don't want it to."
"It's hard work to keep all my bugs sedated and docile when I touch another pony," Blossom sighed, "and we STILL have a hard time finding dates."
"You mortalss and your vanity," Sliver scoffed, shaking his head. "A wasste of preciouss time and energy, if you assk me. But enough. Back to Malgotha."

****

Malgotha

Virgil started heading toward the front of our deployment, looking as if he was going for a leisurely stroll rather than navigating a poisonous daemonic wasteland.
"Do you need a void suit? Armor? Or a respirator, at least?" Solon asked. "Really, you're practically naked."
"No, thank you."
"So what do you intend to do now that you're here?" I demanded. "If you wish to stay for long, then we will leave you."
"This will not take long," Virgil assured us, "a matter of hours. No more than a day, at most." He stopped and looked back at us. "Will you be accompanying me?"
"Do you require our protection?" I asked.
"Sliver, if you wish to remain here, you may. But I did not come to this place to stare at it from afar." The Warsmith stepped up next to Virgil. "I'm quite interested to see more of this anomaly. Let's see what kind of land earns the title of 'Nurgle's rotting heart'."
I growled in frustration. This was always the most trying part of serving under Warsmith Solon. The man has an atrocious record for combat, yet never hesitates to take to the field if he thinks he might be useful or takes a personal interest in the mission. Challenging formidable opponents and then getting mangled to within an inch of his life seems to be literally the only pattern Solon cannot recognize.
"Are you saying you'd rather have him stay back, out of danger?"
I'd rather he learn to fight AT LEAST as well as our bloody Trademaster. I'm quite certain the damned merchant could carve the Warsmith apart if they'd ever had occasion to fight.
"I'll go with you," I said, turning away. I quickly organized an escort for us. Two full squads, one with flamer support and another bearing melta guns. Anything that could stand against more than twenty Iron Warriors was too dangerous to be worth fighting for the sake of mere curiosity. We had to make way on foot, as the land looked too brittle, and the sludge pits too pervasive, for armored transports. As such, I resolved to call a retreat if there looked to be any possibility of a losing battle.
"So it didn't seem that way right off, then?"
No. Malgotha seemed almost... placid at first glance. But as men of Chaos, we knew better than that. Malgotha was a land in which death lay just underneath the surface.
Literally so, as it turned out.

We set out across the wasteland. Virgil led us, showing no care for the terrain beyond not stepping in the pits. We scanned the area around us constantly, searching for any signs of resistance or activity, but found nothing.
On one side of the strange void-island was a sea of brackish filth, and it was upon those shores that Virgil halted us. Great slabs of stone poked out of the ground at various angles, inscribed with dirty scratchings that may or may not have made sense to our attendant clergy.
"Here," Virgil said, clasping his hands together. He closed his eyes and started mumbling prayers.
Solon was taking pict-captures of the monoliths, but I was restless. So far there had been no signs of conflict or resistance, something almost unheard of for any daemonic land. I was utterly convinced that this calm was merely building up to a catastrophe.
"And... it was, right?"
Not QUITE in the way I had anticipated.
It was several minutes after the start of Virgil's prayer when a creature surged up out of the nearby sea with surprising speed. It was large, at least the size of a main battle tank, and covered in a thick layer of vile sludge.
I don't have a better description of it, because the first thing I did was blast it apart with my combi-bolter.
"Oh, dear."
My reaction was instantaneous, stitching mass-reactive shells across the daemon's face. It flinched away from the explosions, gurgling something that was lost among the pounding of my gun.
"Hold fire! HOLD FIRE!" Solon shouted.
I stopped shooting, but the other Iron Warriors were already aiming their own weapons, and they trusted my instincts more than Solon's. A savage fusillade of boltgun fire cut down the creature, tearing off great chunks of flesh and bile and pushing it back into the water. The Marines bearing melta guns moved to get a clear shot, and twin streams of super-heated gas finished it off. A frightened wail filled the air as Warp-flesh turned to dust and ash, and the daemon collapsed into motes of glittering green light.

Virgil frowned at the rippling waters where the creature had emerged, saying nothing as bolt casings bounced along the ground at our feet.
"That daemon wasn't hostile." He turned to look at me. "I probably should have mentioned that earlier."
A guttural snarl came from behind me, deferring a sarcastic retort. A humanoid creature, possibly human beneath its shell of weeping growths and crusted sores, was crawling out of one of the sludge puddles nearby. It snarled again as it found its footing, reaching its grime-soaked hands for my weapon.
"Now THAT one is hostile," Virgil said. I'm sure he thought he was helping.
I swung my axe down into the new daemon's shoulder, cutting deep into its body. The power field crackled and hissed against the corrupted flesh of its target, chewing away at its rotting bulk, but the beast seemed unconcerned. It seized my armor and clawed against it furiously, and I in turn hacked away more and more of its body with every swing of my axe. It took three more blows to stop the thing for good, chopping it to pieces of oozing limbs beneath me. Molten scars marred my armor from my opponent's claws, eating into the outer layers with some foul Warp acid.
But the battle was only beginning.
While I had been rending apart the first daemon, more had emerged from other pools, growling and grasping for us. My Iron Warriors opened fire, blasting apart many of the monstrosities while they scrambled to their feet. The flamers proved most effective, igniting the creatures and devouring their diseased flesh quickly.
But there were simply too many opponents. Hundreds, probably thousands of the foul cyst-like pits marred the face of Malgotha. As the closest daemons fell before flame and bolter, another ring of monsters rose to defend their blasted island.
"Virgil!" Solon shouted while charging some kind of plasma weapon. "Can you pacify these creatures?! We are not here to fight!"
Virgil, unsurprisingly, looked almost bored while the horde of slavering daemons charged into our guns. "I can try. It may be difficult to make that point while you're still fighting, though."
A great flash came from Solon's gun, and a half-dozen of the vile daemons perished in a burst of clustered explosions.
"Do what you can!" Solon growled, ejecting an energy cell from his gun and snapping in another. "Sliver!"
"Our escape path is cut off!" I snarled, blasting apart foe after foe with my combi-bolter. "We cannot retreat through the wastes! We'll go by the coast! Keep your backs to the sea and maintain fire discipline!" I struck off the head of a daemon with my power axe, and then led a charge along the water.

My men followed in an instant, and Warsmith Solon formed up at the rear of our firing line. Hardly a dignified position for my superior, but nobody complained.
Virgil simply stayed still, praying in front of those damned monoliths. Naturally, the daemons paid him no mind, parting around him in their rush to kill us. We left him there; I wasn't about to risk all our lives to bring him with us, and he didn't seem at all concerned with our situation anyway.
The creatures came in waves, luckily, apparently subject to some invisible will that drove them to attack. They'd stumble from their foul pits and mass together, then fling themselves into our guns in a single diseased mob, like insane, leprous Orks. Some of them may have been Orks, in fact. We cut down one crowd of daemons after another as we moved along the coast, making steady progress toward the landing zone. I ordered my warriors to shoot the legs out of the first rank of the larger hordes, tripping and slowing the greater mass of daemons for the flamers and grenades to kill large swaths of them at once.
Vox reports came from the zone itself, confirming that all of Malgotha had erupted with the armies of Nurgle to slay the intruders that had violated his rotting heart. We were well fortified, however, and whatever force produced and guided the monsters did not see fit to send more formidable warrior-daemons to attack us. I was confident that the landing zone would hold until we arrived for extraction.
Even so, I cursed myself the entire way of the retreat. I had caused all of this. My overcaution had lapsed straight into recklessness, and we were being driven from Malgotha as a result. Although I held no particular respect for Nurgle at the time, I deeply regretted agitating him. This was an error I never would have tolerated from a subordinate, and as we fought our way along the coast of that vile sea, I contemplated penance and sacrifice.
It was then that my SECOND tactical error became apparent.

I had no particular reason to think that the sea was safe, aside from the fact that daemons were spilling from the land and not the water. Under the circumstances, desperate as they were, it was simply a guess that it would remain that way. And, to my credit, only one new daemon appeared from the sea of filth.
"Tentacle monster?"
Tentacle monster. To be fair, daemons literally base their physical forms on our own ideas of what monsters look like, so it says more about us than them.
"Ewww..."
The spine-tipped, slime-covered tendrils shot from the water like harpoons, and two Iron Warriors were ripped apart before anyone knew what was happening.
I turned in time to strike at an incoming tendril with my axe, and even so the limb knocked me down. I was thrown from the formation, my combi-bolter spinning out of my hand.
The tendril arched up, oozing... something from its wound. I gave it no time to orient itself, and leapt to my feet to sever the limb.
Evidently this made me the focus of this new daemonic threat, which I suppose was just as well; the others maintained their fire on the daemons advancing from land, lest we be overrun from both directions.
Another tendril snaked around my legs, intending to bind me. I again ripped through it with my power axe, but this proved merely a diversion; while my axe descended another tentacle darted in from the side, puncturing my armor and plunging into the flesh below. I was knocked down again, but this time I felt great pain seeping through my body, and my muscles began to constrict. I had been infected by one of Grandfather's many ailments.
As I struggled against my fate, I finally saw the beast at the root of the filthy appendages, or at least some substantial portion of it. It resembled an enormous human head sitting in the water, bald and encrusted with boils, yawning open a malformed jaw. The tendrils squirmed, worm-like, from its mouth, and those that I had severed flailed about in the air as if in terrible pain.
"Oh, okay! So those were like its tongues! I thought they were going to be-"
No, they were not.
"Although, really, even the tongue is a little-"
STOP THAT.
The tentacle dug further into me, and its length began curling around my arm to drag me into the sea.
Suddenly, I felt hands seizing my armor and holding me back, and shouting coming from vox grilles. My men were trying to save me, pull me back from the daemon.
Putting aside that this tug-of-war was intensely painful, I knew that if they focused on the larger beast, we would be overrun by the lesser daemons. "Forget me!" I snapped. "Let the daemon choke on my bones! Keep going! Retreat!"
There were shouts in response. Probably protests. I wasn't listening. It was perhaps fitting, if anything, that I die at the hands of the daemons I had provoked. I would not see my men killed in a futile effort to save myself. "That's an order! FALL BACK!!"
The tendril pulled my body up, and the gauntlets gripping my body slackened. Battle cries and the roar of boltguns seemed to rise ever louder as I was carried toward that wretched sea.
Then there was a flash of light, and the tendril holding me went slack. I fell into the shallows of the beach, my body wracked with pain. Another tentacle started moving for me right away.
"I said go!" I gasped. "Retreat, damn you!"
The tentacle lashed closer, but before it could reach me, a power sword cut into its side. The daemon shrieked. An armored body stepped between me and the creature, but my vision was spinning and I couldn't tell who it was.
"What are you doing?" I demanded. "I said-"
"You don't give me orders, Sliver," said the Iron Warrior, releasing a ferocious blast of plasma into the maw of the sea daemon. "Now get up and move along! I won't lose you here!"
It was Solon. Warsmith Solon had saved me, and now stood between the daemon and I.
"Oh, wow!"
This confrontation lasted all of three seconds. A tentacle smashed into him from above, knocking Solon down and then dragging him into the sea instead.
"Oh, wow..."

I didn't see any more of what happened. Everything was a feverish daze. I was pulled to my feet by my men, and carried along as they continued the retreat. Paralyzed and helpless. And yet my Iron Warriors fought tooth and nail for me, eventually resorting to knives when their boltguns ran dry. They surrounded my body, intent on defending me to their last breath.
None had raised a hand to defend the Warsmith, incidentally.
And then, apparently, the daemons just... stopped attacking. They withdrew and retreated back to their pits, leaving us free to complete our own retreat.

My own state was deteriorating fast when we reached the landing zone. An Apothecary treated me immediately, restoring some sense of awareness and thought, but I could feel something wretched clawing through my body, burrowing ever deeper. I knew that I would belong to Nurgle, soon.
"Finish loading the Thunderhawk! Lord Sliver requires evacuation!" snapped a champion.
I grasped the Apothecary's gauntlet. "What... of the daemons?" I gasped.
"They've withdrawn, Lord. They were unable to break the defenses of the landing site," the Apothecary assured me, "now, we must get you-"
"The bodies," I hissed through the pain, "if there... is no opposition, you must... recover the bodies."
The Apothecary nodded slowly. "As you wish, Lord. However, you must depart at once."
"Lord Sliver!" shouted another Marine, rushing up to us.
The Apothecary quickly tried to intervene. "Lord Sliver is badly wounded, and cannot-"
"Be SILENT," I commanded. Between heavy breaths, I nodded to the newcomer. "What is it, Brother?"
"The Chaos Priest Virgil... he's returned," the Iron Warrior spoke awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure what to say. "He wishes to speak to someone in charge, but-"
"Bring him," I said.
I didn't have to wait long before Virgil stepped through the phalanx of my Iron Warriors. His robe was wet and filthy, and he was carrying an object between his hands. No doubt this was what had so flummoxed the other Marine; he was carrying Solon's helmet, holding it upside-down. Presumably so its contents wouldn't spill out.
"Speak!" I barked at the human.
"I have spoken to the Lord of Plagues, and stilled His wrath," Virgil began in his usual disinterested monotone, "He insists, however, that all us, quote, 'weirdo Goth kids,' unquote, get off His lawn and stop making such a racket."
I wanted to laugh, but could not. "Indeed... we shall." I took several deep, rasping breaths. Even with the aid of the Apothecary's serums, it was becoming harder to breathe and keep my eyes open. "Warsmith Solon. Is that... all that's left of him?"
"No," Virgil replied, "I managed to get the rest of his armor to the beach as well, but it was too heavy to carry here." He held up the helmet. "What would you like me to do with this?"
I hesitated. "Then... he is dead."
Virgil looked down into the helmet, as if considering the prospect. Then he turned the helmet right-side up. Thick, bloody slurry oozed from the armor piece, splashing over the ground. An augmented skull dropped out and hung from the helmet, suspended from the optics cluster by thick cabling running into its left eye socket. It was obviously Solon's.
"Sure seems like it," Virgil noted.
"What? But, wait... he can't... WHAT?"
My body protested and my hands trembled, but I reached out and took the helmet. I was almost glad for the rising pain of Nurgle's plague, for it felt like a just punishment for what I had done. I had doomed Warsmith Solon. Not through deceit or confrontation, but through incompetence and miscalculation. There is no greater sin for an Iron Warrior.
"Find... the rest of him," I said. My voice was weakening, but I forced myself to give the commands.
"We will, Lord," the Apothecary assured me, "but you must-"
"GO! All of you!" I snapped. "I'm not... leaving this rock... without every other Iron Warrior... that set foot upon it! FIND HIM!"
The others backed off, and then commanded Virgil to lead them to the armor. He complied with his usual cooperative apathy.

I was left alone with the filth-covered helmet of my Warsmith in one hand, and his wired-up skull in the other. Disease wormed its way through my veins, the only other companion to this moment of acute misery.
I focused my gaze on the skull. In times of mourning I often imagine the remains of my brothers to judge me, blaming me for their fates. I felt none of this from Solon's hollow stare. It felt like... he had forgiven me. Or perhaps he didn't blame me in the first place.
A fly crawled out of the skull's empty eye socket.

****

Ferrous Dominus - sector 5
Temple of Nurgle

The mares of Phage Squadron stared at Sliver with wide eyes and slack jaws.
Sliver sighed and started to stand again. "And that iss the sstory of Malgotha. Virgil overssaw my converssion to Nurgle'ss sservice ssoon after we left, and I have dutifully followed the Plague God ever ssince."
He started turning around, only to have Breezy Blight leap in front of him again.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What about Solon?" she asked, looking distressed. Poison Kiss looked similarly distraught, and Rot Blossom seemed to be rubbing away tears from under her impossibly bushy mane. "Did Solon really die?"
"Did he look dead the lasst time you ssaw him?" Sliver asked.
"But... what happened, then?" Kiss asked. "Was the skull fake? Was he resurrected? Turned into a daemon, maybe?"
"That iss perhapss the mosst important ssecret of the 38th Company and our... ESSTEEMED Warssmith." Sliver chuckled grimly. "I will not tell you what happened. But he obvioussly weathered hiss gruessome fate better than any of uss expected. He iss now a favored child of Nurgle as well, and conssiderss the encounter on Malgotha a crucial boon."
The ponies glanced at each other, confused but unsure what more to ask.
Sliver turned his head, staring at the shrine at the end of the room. "Although... I should ssee to it he attendss sservicess more often. Ssometimess I feel like he takess Grandfather for granted."
For the second time that day - and for the second time since they had ever met the man - Sliver laughed. He walked out of the room while chuckling, clearly in a substantially better mood than when he had entered it.

The three pony cultists were left behind, still perplexed.
"Was that some kind of joke? I don't follow," Kiss mumbled.
Breezy frowned and scratched at her head. "So... Warsmith Solon is... a bug? Or, like, a bug piloting a huge metal walker thing? If we took off the helmet would there be a little fly in there working a bunch of tiny levers?"
"That technically wouldn't be the oddest thing we've seen since we got here, but I'm still guessing not," Kiss retorted.
"I think we should check," the pegasus insisted, "also, this might mean that Blossom is actually his boss!"
"That's not how my powers work, Breezy," Blossom reminded her friend, "or how rank works, for that matter." She paused. "Also, I think that's just a generally bad thing to do to something that could easily kill us all."
"Pff. You girls are no fun," Breezy complained.
Poison Kiss rounded on the pegasus sharply, and the gray pony recoiled in surprise as she found herself nose-to-nose with her squad commander.
"Antagonizing the blokes who saved our hides is not a JOKE, Breezy," the unicorn hissed. "Warsmith Solon gave us our station, our weapons, and our future." Breezy gulped, and her ears flipped down. "Whether he's an Astartes, a daemon, or an especially clever maggot, as far as I'm concerned he's every bit as great a leader as Princess Celestia." She poked the pegasus in the chest repeatedly.
"And that's being pretty generous to Princess Celestia," Blossom mumbled.
"Okay, okay! I was just curious..." Breezy wilted under Kiss's glare, and what she assumed was a harsh stare of disapproval from Blossom.
"Well, pack it in, because story time is over," Poison Kiss whirled around again, heading deeper into the temple. "We have work to do. For Nurgle, for Chaos... and for Equestria."