Varian was a grunt.
He had no rights, no luxuries, no family.
He was expendable, cannon fodder,
A guardsman of the Imperium of Man.
Out of billions of soldiers in the galaxy wide empire, he was the lowliest.
But fate would decree that he would become something far beyond human…
Varian cringed as mortars exploded around his trench. The loud reverberations hurt his ears, and for the umpteenth time, Varian cursed the planet Lorn IV.
Lorn IV's rocky, barren environment had the curious effect of amplifying every sound that was made. This was to the dismay of Varian as his sensitive ears throbbed from the sharp staccatos of lasfire and piercing sounds of mortar striking rock.
Adjusting his helmet, Varian laid low and hugged the trench floor. Sneaking a gander at his comrades, Varian witnessed the guardsmen around him returning fire at the opposing chaos cultists entrenched across the tundra battlefield. The laser fire looked quite like strobe lights Varian had seen in a club once, reminding him how weak these weapons were against any substantial armor.
Looking at his own rifle, it reminded Varian of a powerful laser pointer. Not something he wanted when the cultists had access to bolter weapons and even plasma pistols…
"Varian Costello!"
Varian quickly unslung his rifle and aimed it outside the trench as a man with armor markings denoting the position of a ranking officer trudged towards him.
THWACK
Varian could feel the force of his commander's dull sword conk him directly over his helmet.
"The cultist forces are over that way, Costello" the officer sternly remarked, pointing his sword over to the where the rest of the guardsmen where firing.
A frown manifested on Varian as he realized he was facing the wrong way when he hastened to pretend he was upholding his duty.
"Thank the Emperor for the fact I'm not too stringent on protocol, Varian," the commander continued, hunkering down
"If it was someone like Yorick commanding the lot of you, he would have executed you for incompetence. No questions asked"
Varian scowled and spat,
"You know, going easier on me would help my heart condition, Lucianus."
Lucianus ducked his head as a superheated globule of plasma sailed over his head and landed ontop of a guardman's head, melting both armor and skin.
Patting Varian lightly, Lucianus ignored Varian's complaint and headed to the rest of the regiment while saying,
"I can't babysit you all day Varian! Hope to see you alive after the charge!"
Varian thought wildly,
Charge?! Since when was the memo passed around about a charge?!
"GUARDSMEN!"
Lucianus addressed the entire assemblage,
"TODAY, WE PUSH BACK THE HERETICAL FORCES DESECRATING THIS LAND."
Pointing towards the cultists on the opposite half of the barren wasteland, Varian continued,
"TODAY WE TAKE BACK LORN IV FOR THE EMPEROR."
Everyone in the regiment made the sign of the Aquila as the holy deity's name was mentioned,
"TODAY, WE WILL TRIUMPH!"
Roars of affirmation spread the crowd of weary soldiers.
His frown changing into a nervous look, Varian knew that a charge would follow Lucianus's brief, crude rallying speech.
Nervous not for his life, he knew that the far superior numbers of the regiment would almost certainly overwhelm the cultists as long as the basilisks got into position to start shelling the enemy position. Varian's mind was antsy about the rumors of the chance that they would have to face the dreaded enemies: the Chaos Space Marines of the Black Legion.
Varian had heard of tales relayed between imperial regiment camps about the demonic, corrupt super soldiers of the Imperium. Cast out due to their betrayal of the Emperor of Humanity, the traitors sought a new sort of deity, a deity that would satisfy their inherent blood lust and give them power beyond comprehension.
They had found their answer in the form of the Gods of Chaos. Varian knew that to even whisper their names were grounds for execution.
Khorne, the god of war and martial prowess
Tzeentch, master of sorcery and change
Nurgle, patron of disease and plague
And lastly, Slaanesh, a perverse god that fulfilled every pleasure and unspoken desire.
Remembering Lucianus's brief speech, Varian thought
These cultists aren't the real forces of chaos, the space marines are…
A high-pitched scream came from the cultist camp.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Varian looked to the origin of the unnatural screech.
One of the guardsmen pointed to the cultists situated opposite from Varian's position
"Holy Emperor..."
Disregarding the safety of their trench, the cultists were staking themselves on no man's land with metal poles…
One took a sharpened pole and wedged it firmly into the two rocks, and threw himself on the end.
The metal end speared through the cultist's body, blood spraying everywhere coating the rocks with deep red. A bloody smile elicited from his lips as blood poured unabated from the hole in his chest.
A demonic wail issued from several of the cultists,
"Blood for the Blood God!"
Whispers passed back and forth from the ranks,
"What in the Emperor's name are they doing?!"
"Are they insane?"
"Stea-steady, men." Lucianus sought to restore calm from the agitated group of guardsmen. But it was clear that the disturbing scene was taking its toll on a comparatively softhearted commander like Lucianus.
"They are fa-fanatics…"
Varian shook his head, wondering why he even bothered rolling out of his bunk bed…
"Look at the bodies," pointed out an older soldier.
Something unholy was passing, the air was filled with evil, mad energy.
Eldritch, fiery energy engulfed the battlefield. Spilling unto the dead cultists, the warp energy spread. With each suicide, the energies grew in intensity, reaching even to affect the skies.
Varian was no idiot. Unlike most of the brainwashed guardsmen conscripted from worlds, Varian was an avid student of cosmology at his home planet of Pyrimidae. While looked down upon, he was eager to study the universe and humanity's place within the cosmos.
In the ancient forbidden texts of a bygone era, he found references to such mad energy. Speculation pointed that this energy originated from Chaos's home, The Warp.
The Warp was the collective psychic power of all sentient life, and as such it was corrupted by humanity's primal unconsciousness. Immaterial, The Warp was a place where even the most mentally stable of people could not survive.
Varian looked out at the menacing maroon clouds, lightning spearing the sky. Once again, he found himself cursing his luck. Realization dawning on him, he thought,
It was a fucking ritual, the whole damn thing. Blood to call down this hell.
It was a Warp Storm. A dimensional rift for chaos to rend this world into pieces.
A once blue, benevolent sky was mutated into a sickening red color. Storms prevailed through the atmosphere as Varian witnessed a black portal rip the air.
Only one thing could come out of that abominable hole.
Daemons.