Fire all batteries.
The last words of this battle we heard. The last hope of peace spent.
The war of Man verse Ork was on again. There were peace treaties in place, but neither side obeyed them. We were hungry for war, hungry for death, hungry for the rush. This is the way of the doom cult; this is the way of the 'Da'kulta'bashas'. 'Da'kulta'bashas', the greatest, yet the most secret, only the high priest on Earth knows of our existence. Not even Inquisitors, or psychics can find us. We are what remain of the Space Marines tests, the leftovers, the monsters, the outcasts.
We are the ribs to the backbone, the muscle to the spine, we are the real killers, the ones who stop the flood, the ones who save the armies, the ones who sacrifice ourselves to hold the empire together.
We hold the knowledge of the generations, knowledge of the Golden Chair and of the lost technology. It is the knowledge of the old ages that makes us the threat that we are.
We are the only surviving race of proper Humans. We do not mingle with other cultures. The Terran Empire has been poisoned by outside influences, other races of impure blood. There are no pure Humans left, but we.
The knowledge we hold is our power, the knowledge of the Kuamar Ceremony, the power to withhold the powers of the enemy, the power to destroy a mind, the power to stop the green rush before they destroy the men.
We dislike the outside world, the world of impurities, the world of chaos. We remain in our sanctuary, in harmony with the Universe, guiding fate towards its destiny.
We only venture out of our world when the Empire is in the direst of fates, such as the wars of Armageddon. This is where our story begins, with the beginning of the Armageddon wars.
Space Marines and Imperial Guard fighting side by side against the ravenous hordes of the Green skins. The viciousness showing in their eyes, in their skin, in the leader.
Their leader, a massive Ork, a towering figure, a force all of its own. A mindless killing machine. A being of great power and great malice, a being so powerful, not even I, the greatest of us, could destroy the foul infestation.
The days go by like a flower opening its petals, the armies entrench, the Green horde prepares. My people meditate in silent awareness, eyes wide open to none but good, to only those who will bring victory and stability.
The battle for Armageddon begins, the men fire their guns, the Green skins slash their weapons, the repetition gets so boring, so dull, so dreadful. We meditate for weeks, in secrecy, preparing for the oncoming battle, the one final battle that will cleanse this world.
The men die on the lines, the armour is pillaged, the souls banished to the shadow realm. Yet still we wait. Some of my younger students are getting restless. They wait with impatience, they want the battle, they want the rush. I calm their wandering spirits, I send them to relax and prepare, yet they still grow weary of meditating.
One night, a cold, mysterious night, the lines are pushed back to our monastery. A man walks in, who's name is of no consequence, and asks me what we are doing. I tell him we are meditating. He tells us we must move, that the lines are collapsing, that they have lost the planet. I tell him we shall stay, he insists. We will stay, I say. I touch his right arm to make him wait, but he wont.
He then moves towards the door, sees a shadow, gets his gun ready, seeks his prey, his heart pounding, his blood rushing, he strikes the Green skin with a deadly blow. The Green skin, phased but not dead, fights back. They struggle, he shouts for help, I cannot help him. This was his battle.
Finally, he kills the beast, but at a price, he has lost his left arm. The arm I didn't touch, the arm I failed to protect, for the Green skin was a test, a figment of his imagination, a wild thing in his mind.
He twitches in pain, in agony, as he struggles to stay conscious. I move towards him, but he moves away. I come closer, but still he moves away. Why does he do this? Is he afraid of what I could do? I stand still as if to calm him. He moves into the shadows, and I know his soul is lost.
The next morning, the battle I have been waiting for came. This day would have been the best in history, but although we won, it was at a terrible cost. My cult, 'Da'culta'bashas', was decimated, men fell at the hands of the green skins. More and more blood was spilt, until there were but three men left, myself, Jonru and Kandor.
We fled to behind the allied lines, to recover from the attack. I had a vision that night, that one of my followers would betray me. I did not know which it was, but I was careful.
I sat in my housing, meditating, always aware of my surroundings, ready to strike at a moments notice. A movement, my room is disturbed. I sense a presence, it is Jonru, it was him that would betray me. I wait until he is near me, and strike with all of my might, he is knocked down, dead. Then, to my surprise, his face changes. It twists in a matter of unearthliness. No, it was Kandor, making it look like Jonru, and he had tea in his hand, not an implement of my demise. I knew then I had performed an injustice. I found Jonru laying the dinner table, he was surprised to see me, but I continued in a play until he was occupied. I struck a fatal blow, but what is this, he got back up, power raging through his eyes, danger incarnate.
The battle rages, blasts splintering wood, melting metal, twisting plastic. We battle for long hard minutes, until a new force enters. One with power that is unknown to me, the power of a man who is raged, who has the rush, who is dangerous.
He runs over with a strange implement, an arm of flowing power and blasts flow through Jonru, sparks flying everywhere until his body finally stops resisting. He falls to the floor, dead. I look at the newcomer, it is the man who lost his arm, the man whose soul was lost to the chaos, the man I had not trusted. He got up, walked over to me and bowed his head, I bowed back and he walked off. I didn't see that man again for 5 years, when I did, I realized who I had met, Commissar Yarrick, the man who led the forces, who rallied them. I walked up to him, forcing my way through his guards. He turned, stared and remembered.
We walked together to the front lines. We walked in silence, knowing what the other had to say. I had decided that I had meditated enough so when we got to the front lines, I stood and the Green skins came, and fell. Fell with the power of two, strong men, two best friends. We walked forward together, he, pushing the Green skins with his implant, I pushing them with my mind, until we met the biggest of the Green skins. The Green skin leader. This was the battle that most people remember, people believe that Yarrick did it on his own, the picture shows only one man, but I was there, behind the Green skin, attacking from where no one could see me, for 'Da'culta'bashas' is a secret society, a society of one man and his friend.
The war of Man verse Ork was on again. There were peace treaties in place, but neither side obeyed them. We were hungry for war, hungry for death, hungry for the rush. This is the way of the doom cult; this is the way of the 'Da'kulta'bashas'. 'Da'kulta'bashas', the greatest, yet the most secret, only the high priest on Earth knows of our existence. Not even Inquisitors, or psychics can find us. We are what remain of the Space Marines tests, the leftovers, the monsters, the outcasts.
We are the ribs to the backbone, the muscle to the spine, we are the real killers, the ones who stop the flood, the ones who save the armies, the ones who sacrifice ourselves to hold the empire together.
We hold the knowledge of the generations, knowledge of the Golden Chair and of the lost technology. It is the knowledge of the old ages that makes us the threat that we are.
We are the only surviving race of proper Humans. We do not mingle with other cultures. The Terran Empire has been poisoned by outside influences, other races of impure blood. There are no pure Humans left, but we.
The knowledge we hold is our power, the knowledge of the Kuamar Ceremony, the power to withhold the powers of the enemy, the power to destroy a mind, the power to stop the green rush before they destroy the men.
We dislike the outside world, the world of impurities, the world of chaos. We remain in our sanctuary, in harmony with the Universe, guiding fate towards its destiny.
We only venture out of our world when the Empire is in the direst of fates, such as the wars of Armageddon. This is where our story begins, with the beginning of the Armageddon wars.
Space Marines and Imperial Guard fighting side by side against the ravenous hordes of the Green skins. The viciousness showing in their eyes, in their skin, in the leader.
Their leader, a massive Ork, a towering figure, a force all of its own. A mindless killing machine. A being of great power and great malice, a being so powerful, not even I, the greatest of us, could destroy the foul infestation.
The days go by like a flower opening its petals, the armies entrench, the Green horde prepares. My people meditate in silent awareness, eyes wide open to none but good, to only those who will bring victory and stability.
The battle for Armageddon begins, the men fire their guns, the Green skins slash their weapons, the repetition gets so boring, so dull, so dreadful. We meditate for weeks, in secrecy, preparing for the oncoming battle, the one final battle that will cleanse this world.
The men die on the lines, the armour is pillaged, the souls banished to the shadow realm. Yet still we wait. Some of my younger students are getting restless. They wait with impatience, they want the battle, they want the rush. I calm their wandering spirits, I send them to relax and prepare, yet they still grow weary of meditating.
One night, a cold, mysterious night, the lines are pushed back to our monastery. A man walks in, who's name is of no consequence, and asks me what we are doing. I tell him we are meditating. He tells us we must move, that the lines are collapsing, that they have lost the planet. I tell him we shall stay, he insists. We will stay, I say. I touch his right arm to make him wait, but he wont.
He then moves towards the door, sees a shadow, gets his gun ready, seeks his prey, his heart pounding, his blood rushing, he strikes the Green skin with a deadly blow. The Green skin, phased but not dead, fights back. They struggle, he shouts for help, I cannot help him. This was his battle.
Finally, he kills the beast, but at a price, he has lost his left arm. The arm I didn't touch, the arm I failed to protect, for the Green skin was a test, a figment of his imagination, a wild thing in his mind.
He twitches in pain, in agony, as he struggles to stay conscious. I move towards him, but he moves away. I come closer, but still he moves away. Why does he do this? Is he afraid of what I could do? I stand still as if to calm him. He moves into the shadows, and I know his soul is lost.
The next morning, the battle I have been waiting for came. This day would have been the best in history, but although we won, it was at a terrible cost. My cult, 'Da'culta'bashas', was decimated, men fell at the hands of the green skins. More and more blood was spilt, until there were but three men left, myself, Jonru and Kandor.
We fled to behind the allied lines, to recover from the attack. I had a vision that night, that one of my followers would betray me. I did not know which it was, but I was careful.
I sat in my housing, meditating, always aware of my surroundings, ready to strike at a moments notice. A movement, my room is disturbed. I sense a presence, it is Jonru, it was him that would betray me. I wait until he is near me, and strike with all of my might, he is knocked down, dead. Then, to my surprise, his face changes. It twists in a matter of unearthliness. No, it was Kandor, making it look like Jonru, and he had tea in his hand, not an implement of my demise. I knew then I had performed an injustice. I found Jonru laying the dinner table, he was surprised to see me, but I continued in a play until he was occupied. I struck a fatal blow, but what is this, he got back up, power raging through his eyes, danger incarnate.
The battle rages, blasts splintering wood, melting metal, twisting plastic. We battle for long hard minutes, until a new force enters. One with power that is unknown to me, the power of a man who is raged, who has the rush, who is dangerous.
He runs over with a strange implement, an arm of flowing power and blasts flow through Jonru, sparks flying everywhere until his body finally stops resisting. He falls to the floor, dead. I look at the newcomer, it is the man who lost his arm, the man whose soul was lost to the chaos, the man I had not trusted. He got up, walked over to me and bowed his head, I bowed back and he walked off. I didn't see that man again for 5 years, when I did, I realized who I had met, Commissar Yarrick, the man who led the forces, who rallied them. I walked up to him, forcing my way through his guards. He turned, stared and remembered.
We walked together to the front lines. We walked in silence, knowing what the other had to say. I had decided that I had meditated enough so when we got to the front lines, I stood and the Green skins came, and fell. Fell with the power of two, strong men, two best friends. We walked forward together, he, pushing the Green skins with his implant, I pushing them with my mind, until we met the biggest of the Green skins. The Green skin leader. This was the battle that most people remember, people believe that Yarrick did it on his own, the picture shows only one man, but I was there, behind the Green skin, attacking from where no one could see me, for 'Da'culta'bashas' is a secret society, a society of one man and his friend.