Chaos, Corruption, and Grimm
Chapter ONE: A test of faith
In the dark, cold, void of space a derelict ship was drifting. Nothing new. Indeed, in the forty-first millennium, after literal thousands upon thousands of years of constant and never-ending warfare, such things were more than just common, such things were to be expected and for one to find an area of space without ancient wrecks and millennium old battle fields was quite an amazing occurrence. Though in this case, at the edge of the realm of Ultramar, this particular ship was an unusual sight. In the glow of the dying star that it orbited, one could make out the heavily faded and scared emblem on its side. A demonic, horned head with its maw wide open, set upon a back ground of flames.
The interior reflected its exterior perfectly. The ship, with its life support systems still miraculously functioning, was filled with a stale air that stank of decay and death. The primary lighting systems had long since burned out, leaving the crimson emergency lights to dimly flicker in the darkness. In this dim glow, the remains of the many slaughtered rested. The entire crew, butchered and left to rot in this decrepit ship. Their blood stained against the black hull of the ship like savage art. Every last one of them dead…
Well, almost every last one of them…
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Out of the three-hundred strong crew, two remained. To one of those two remaining crew members, it was home. The darkness of the Battle-Barge Blasphemous Truth had indeed been his home for the past 800 years. Ever since he had been inducted into the word bearers legion and been shown the truth of the old faith. Ever since that fateful day, he had shown worship and devotion to his gods. Worship and devotion which were currently being tested.
Months ago, a greater daemon of chaos undivided had appeared aboard the ship and had spoken to the crew. It had said that the gods required a champion, someone who would provide them both entertainment and service. In order to find worthiest among them to be crowned champion, the gods issued a test of sorts. The test was thus: The Apostles would all pray, while the daemon would kill all who faltered in their prayer. The one who survived would become the champion. That had been months ago and indeed many had died. He and one other were left were all that were left of the original three-hundred.
It was utter agony. When the Apostle had begun praying, he had gotten on his knees and brought his hands together in front of his face. That was months ago, and he had gone without food or water for that entire time. He had gone that entire time without sleeping. He was marine, super humans designed to endure the worst conditions imaginable. A space marine could go weeks without food and days without water. He had long since passed the threshold for such things. He felt as though he was dying. He WAS dying.
The dark gods shined down upon him though, for in the next instant, he won. Perhaps it was for the god's amusement or perhaps the daemon was just bored and wished to end the test. Regardless of the reason, in the span of less than a second, the massive claws of the greater undivided daemon ripped the other contestant to shreds. He did not utter a single cry, not even twitching as his corps fell to the floor.
After the "unfaithful" one had died, the daemon spoke in a hellish, condescending tone that reverberated throughout the rusting hull, "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! It looks as though we have a winner! Congrats my dear boy, knew you had it in you." Pausing to let this sink in, he said "In any case, it's about time we get started!" the daemon said, slapping his massive, clawed hands together, "You see, the gods are in a bit of a tough spot. Something urgent has come up and they are in need of some service. I being the clever daemon that I am suggested that we use some of you chaos space marines. After all, you're quite hilarious to watch, what with your murder, bloodshed, and rape."
The apostle still bowed towards the daemon, seemingly dead. It chuckled at him, saying "But in all seriousness, the gods have a major problem on their hands." He reached out with his claws. Maddening, corrosive pink energy bloomed as his claws glided through the open air, rending the very fabric of space and time. "The problem is a bit complicated. An enemy of the gods is planning something. Now the gods would normally obliterate this threat or send a full war-band, but something has been done to limit their abilities in real-space. This, is where you come in." He grabbed the helmet of the apostle with his massive claws, forcing him to look directly at him, a sadistic smile painting his large maw. "Wreck their plans. Understood?" he questioned with the same condescending tone. The apostle pathetically nodded. "Good" said the daemon.
He patted the apostles head demeaningly "Well then," he gave a wide smile, "you best get to it." The Apostle slowly rose from his position, his armor creaking with rust and his limbs feeling as though ignited promethium coursed through their very fiber. He walked in absolute agony through the portal, with it closing as soon as he entered. The Daemon chuckled "Let the game begin." Fading out of existence, leaving the Battle-Barge silent as it now floated in the emptiness of space.