Hello everyone, this is CypherRahl. This is my first story on the site, and I hope it goes well. Please leave reviews so I can work on making the story better!

I don't own Warhammer 40k, at all. What so ever. Don't even consider the possibility.

Weapons fire echoed in the corridor. Loud, concussive artillery detonations sounded in the distance. The roar of engines as Valkyries flew over head. All these sounds, overwhelming in volume, and dominating in nature. Anywhere else, they would be the only thing you could hear. But here, on this world?It was nothing more than background noise.

The screaming was much louder.

It was everywhere. The very building itself resonated with the sound of countless innocents suffering in this forsaken place. It had been like that for hours, despite the Imperium's best efforts, it had been like that for hours. It was all the xenos filth knew how to do. Make people suffer. Make them scream.

Ezekiel ran down another one of the winding corridors. In front of him, he could see another one of the Eldar filth, it's lithe body well above his height, and it's armor blending into the natural shadows of the hall. Ezekiel brought his plasma pistol up on reflex, not ever thinking as he fired a shot down the hall, the burning round illuminating the hall briefly, before making contact with the surprised slaver.

Ezekiel ran past the corpse as it's chest exploded from the plasma bolt. He continued to run as a doorway opened in front of him, but his steps faltered as his ears were assaulted by the screams tenfold what it had been before.

The interior of the room, much like the facility was dimly lit. Silver instruments of torture and pain lined the obsidian smooth wall. Ezekiel stepped into the room, the stench of dried blood and human waste filling his nostrils. It was overwhelming, but Ezekiel was not phased. He continued forward.

In the center of the room, a metal table hung in the air, suspended by the same anti-grav technology the Eldar were well known for. Dripping with fresh blood, he could see the occasional bit of fluid fall to the floor, where a puddle of sticky drying blood was colligating. There wasn't a body though, the straps meant to hold the poor soul were hanging loosely off the table. Ezekiel ran his hands along them, feeling where the leather had been broken.

He stopped when he felt a blemish in the leather. He brought his pistol closer to it, the glow from the weapon illuminating the material. Ezekiel let out a curse of disgust, jumping back, realization setting in. It wasn't leather, it was human skin.

Ezekiel did not have long to dwell on this new horror. Footsteps in the room drew him back to reality, his training and years of hard earned experienced taking over. He quickly scanned the room, seeing several other tables, 'work benches', and more blood then Ezekiel had seen in a long time.

In the corner of the room, Ezekiel saw a small, hunched and shivering form pressed against the wall of the room. He approached slowly, his boots falls the only sound in the room as he drew closer. When he was only a few steps away, the figure stopped shivering. Judging by it's size, it couldn't have been more than a child.

He crouched down, swapping his pistol to his other hand, and extending his gloved hand. "It's ok now, it's safe. We are here to bring you home." He got no response from the child, so he leaned forward, placing his hand on it's shoulder.

The child's body suddenly jerked away. Before Ezekiel could swing his pistol around, the child had turned and lunged at him, blood red eyes and fangs bared to him. He didn't have time to fire, and at this range, he was just as likely to get killed. He snapped his other arm forward, his fist colliding with the child's…no, the things head. It tumbled to the side, landing on all fours.

Ezekiel pushed himself back his head hitting the side of one of the floating tables. He felt warm liquid dripping down on his face as he quickly raised his plasma pistol. Before he could fire, the creature lunged at him again, it's fangs coming towards his throat…

Ezekiel sat up in his bunk, sweat soaked sheets falling away from his form. In his hand, he held a combat knife, something he kept with him at all times, even when he slept. His grey eyes scanned the room, looking for the creature, preparing to defend himself like he had back in those dark days.

His eyes slid across the walls of his room, realization dawned on him that it was nothing but a dream and he relaxed. A horrifying dream, but that was it. He tossed the sheets of his bunk across the mattress, swinging himself around and placing his feet on the cold floor, though not yet getting up from his bed.

He brought his hands up to his head, cradling it as he closed his eyes. He took several long deep breaths. The metal of the knife hilt felt cool against his temple, and he held it there for several moments. Eventually Ezekiel pushed himself to his feet, running a hand through his short cut brown hair as his mindset and breathing returned to normal.

He tossed the knife onto the bed behind him, and walked over to his locker. Pulling it open, Ezekiel reached in and withdrew a pure blue uniform, decorated with numerous medals. On the collar, the symbol of Mordia and his rank were pinned to opposite side, while on the epaulets the numbers ninety one stood out. He ran his fingers slowly over the familiar numbers, his mind drifting to memories associated with his 91st.

For a faint moment, his mind drifted back to the past, in his tired and delusional state, where he issued a declaration "I am Colonel Ezekiel Marr of the 91st Mordian Iron Guard. I live to serve, and seek to die in battle, for the glory of the Imperium…" A loud chime echoed through the room, drawing Ezekiel away from his thoughts. A booming metallic voice filled the room, causing Ezekiel to grimace. "Colonel, you are needed on the bridge. New orders are coming down from Sector Command."

Ezekiel replied quickly, not missing a beat. "Understood, I shall arrive shortly." The chime sounded again, before leaving Ezekiel in silence. He quickly donned his uniform, the highly formal colors and designs standing out from common Imperial Guard uniforms. As he walked towards the door of his quarters, he strapped on his belt, and holstered his plasma pistol.

Next to the door was a mirror, where he briefly inspected himself. He flattened a few areas of his uniform that had hints of wrinkles, before nodding to himself. Thumbing the door control, he stepped into the hallway beyond, and made his way to the bridge.

And there we go people. The prologue, the beginning of a new story. Please like and follow this story, and leave a review so I can work on making this story better for everyone.

Special thanks to Commissar Danno for betaing this story. He is a great writer himself, and you should go check out his stories.